


A Purse of wooden Dimes

by Prince_of_Scales



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Birmingham City, Financial Issues, Gangs, Gen, Hurt, Money, Pre-Canon, Pre-War, Protectiveness, Siblings, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_of_Scales/pseuds/Prince_of_Scales
Summary: Next Chapter: Two Weeks off from Work now and just went on a editing-Spree. Trying to finish by 28th of December. Edited about 1/3 of the next Chapter [25/12/20]________Arthur Shelby Sr. had returned to Watery Lane about three weeks ago, in the late afternoon when the sun had soaked the grey facades lining the street in reddish gold. For once everything had seemed peaceful and he’d actually considered to head out to the stables without any obligations after going through numbers and correcting wrong calculations since the early morning. Just when he had shrugged into his coat and laced his boots, a heavy knock had echoed through the hallway.The inevitable disaster had struck only about two weeks later. An empty bottle of Whiskey, sleeping Finn and a devastated Arthur had stayed behind. Their father had convinced him that he needed the few savings they had scraped together during the past months to put his plan into motion and strike a necessary deal with a powerful Gang. He hadn’t even questioned why such a deal required their father to pay his partners or what they would gain in the end.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the Late Novembre of 1908.
> 
> Updates on Progress at @Calanetha on Twitter.

For some reason he had believed that things would miraculously take a turn for the better once they got through the first week. Instead he found himself in the semi-darkness of the kitchen at six in the morning, hoping that their sparse breakfast wouldn’t catch on fire while he rocked the newest addition to their family in his arms. He’d been crying for the better part of the past three hours and probably would’ve woken the entire house of Watery Lane by now, if Thomas hadn’t given up on the idea of going back to sleep entirely and taken the Baby downstairs. Unfortunately, that had been his last resort and it had done nothing except for turning his bare feet into icicles and wearing the creaking floorboards down. For a brief moment he even wondered if the tiny bundle in his arms could suffocate because he barely seemed to catch his breath between his miserable cries.

"You’re missing your Mum, eh?", he muttered softly and carefully brushed his fingertips over the teary cheek of the baby. "Sometimes I still miss mine too, y’know?", he added as he resumed walking through the small room. Usually, he refrained from expressing his own feelings in such an obvious fashion and probably would have denied that the words had ever left his tongue with his other siblings around. Yet, he had spoken the truth. Watching them hauling her lifeless body from the Creek had turned his world upside down and he had spend many nights with his face buried in his pillow, trying to breath through the suffocation sorrow. Sometimes, he still startled awake at night and started panicking when he desperately tried to recall her voice and smile, but couldn’t. The memories simply slipped through his fingers as if they were made of sand, leaving nothing but a trace of salt on his tongue.

When the flames had claimed her body and belongings and Arthur had started weeping like a child despite being the oldest, he decided to keep all of those feelings buried deep within himself and to become the steady ground his siblings needed. He’d sit with Ada when she couldn’t fall asleep cause there was nobody to sing a lullaby, stole sweets and slipped them into John’s pockets to make him smile for once and kept telling them that everything would be alright even though be barely believed his own words.

"I really don’t know how to help you though", he interrupted those thoughts and returned his attention to the wailing baby. If he’d been dealing with a horse that refused to run on the tracks, he probably would have figured the reason out within mere minutes. But he didn’t know much about caring for an infant besides attending his basic needs. Since he wasn’t able to soothe Finn back to sleep and feeding him with the leftovers of cow’s milk watered down with fennel tea had only granted him ten minutes of silence, he had reached his end of rope. "Aunt Polly would probably know, eh?" 

Nevertheless, he didn’t really have the heart to disturb her right now. She’d gone through her own share of awful troubles during the past months and deserved some quiet time. It had been late Summer when they had taken Anna and Michael away and she had decided to move back into the Watery Lane House. Even though she had never said a word about it, he knew that she couldn’t stand the silence of a flat that had been lively in the morning and dead silent by nightfall because her children were gone. Having a crying baby around had brought all those memories back. She had barely managed to look at Finn when their father had brought him to the house and he had seen the pain in her eyes when she had turned away and left the room.

Of course, she had helped them anyways and made sure that they didn’t make any disastrous decisions. She’d actually smacked his hands with a wooden spoon when he had tried to feed Finn with the milk without diluting it first, calling him a _Dinlow_ and a few more unflattering names at the same time. But even then the unwavering traces of sorrow hadn’t left her features and once she had been sure that he wouldn’t get Finn killed anytime soon, she’d ventured off to the betting Shop and kept herself busy with the books. For the second time in his life, Thomas had vowed to be the steady ground that his Family needed to keep going – in spite of the fact that his vow might require him to take care of a baby for the majority of the next weeks.

"We’ll take good care of you, no worries", he continued talking to the child, unconsciously switching to the soft whispers that he generally used when he was dealing with frightened horses. Apparently, it didn’t really work for crying babies and he could actually feel his patience faltering as the minutes passed. Yet, he couldn’t put him back into the basket they had utilised as a cradle since they hadn’t been prepared to accommodate an infant. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been any better than their father who had turned frequently neglecting his children into a daily habit throughout the years. 

He’d returned to Watery Lane about three weeks ago, in the late afternoon when the sun had soaked the grey facades lining the street in reddish gold. For once everything had seemed peaceful and he’d actually considered to head out to the stables without any obligations after going through numbers and correcting wrong calculations since the early morning. Just when he had shrugged into his coat and laced his boots, a heavy knock had echoed through the hallway. It took him a few seconds to actually react since they didn’t except any visitors and by now, he wished had had locked and bolted the door instead of opening it. It had been almost a year since he’d last seen their father who had claimed he had important business to attend abroad and vanished into the night. It hadn’t been the first time that he had stayed away for weeks, but it had been the first time he had left them to fend for themselves. Their Grandfather had already passed away in the Summer of 1905 and Polly had been busy with the drunk escapades of her husband, leaving only Arthur and Thomas to actually take care of their siblings. He hadn’t even send them one word and for all they knew, he could have been dead, drowned in a puddle after indulging in one too many glasses of cheap Whiskey. Subsequently, Thomas had dropped out of school and taken over most of the responsibilities concerning Ada and John and some parts of the family business. 

"You are back", he had blandly stated while contemplating if he should shut the door in his face. But for some reason he hadn’t done that despite the smell of sweat and stale Whiskey that had hit him when his father had taken a step forward. Only then had he realised that he carried a small bundle of crumpled blankets in his arms. "I am indeed, Tommy", he had answered and flashed him a bright smile that hadn’t reached his Eyes. It had set all the alarm bells in his head off at once. 

"You won’t let your father inside to warm up by the fire and rest his tired bones?", he had continued while Thomas hadn’t moved an inch from his place in the doorway. During the first months of his absence, he had only felt disappointment when he had though about his father. But that had slowly melted into burning rage when he’d witnessed how much John and Ada had struggled with the sudden change and he still wondered how a grown man couldn’t have enough common sense to not leave his children alone after they had already struggled with the loss of one parent. 

"Not until you explained why you vanished without a single fucking word", he had retorted and crossed his arms while his father had only heaved a sigh as if he was dealing with a child that had forgotten to be respectful towards his parents. "Still as stubborn as a mule, I see. I will explain everything just fine when the family is gathered." There had been a short break and Thomas had been tempted to claim that their family was complete without him being there. That they were doing just fine and had managed to make some money even though he had abandoned them and the betting Shop, actually leaving quite a disarray behind since he had often neglected the books in favour of downing Whiskey at the Garrison and flirting with pretty girls half his age. 

But then the small bundle had started to cry and he’d somehow lost the point of the conversation. "You see, I’ve got someone to introduce to you lot, too", his father had added and squeezed past Thomas when he stepped back for the sake of the baby. It hadn’t been as freezing outside as usual, but he had guessed it would be the best to continue their discussion inside anyways. And maybe he had allowed himself to hope that their father had returned for good and some of the burdens would be lifted off his Shoulders. 

That had been the first of several stupid decisions he had made throughout the following week and things had started to go downhill before they had fully registered what had been going on. When they had finally settled in the small living room, the explanations for his prolonged absence had seemed reasonable at least. Furthermore, his siblings had been excited and he had allowed them to have that moment, staying out of the way and keeping his thoughts to himself. Only Polly had seemed to share his caution, watching them steadily while sipping her tea and avoiding to look at the small boy that still rested in his fathers arms. 

"Meet Finnegan, the newest member of the Shelby-Family", he had finally introduced the child that apparently was his Son, explaining that his Mum had died due to an infection not too long ago. Those words had been enough to crank the sirens that were continuously shrilling in the back of his head up and he suddenly was pretty sure that Finn was one of the main reasons for this unannounced reappearance. Their father had always enjoyed strong booze and the dense smoke of Pubs. He wouldn’t start spending most of his days cooped up at home to take care of an infant. That was a woman’s work after all and since he couldn’t dump his own flesh and blood on strangers, Polly must have been his first idea. 

Their father must have read his mind and had shot a warning glance at him when he continued with his story. "Business went downhill for a while. Y’know how it sometimes happens, boys", he had claimed while Arthur nodded eagerly even though he barely had a clue about all the things that were going on behind the closed doors of the betting Shop. He’d spent a good deal of his time at the Garrison or looking for trouble in the Streets during the past months, probably trying to drown the helplessness of their situation in Whiskey and rage. Actually, Thomas couldn’t really blame him since the weight on their shoulders had grown heavy throughout the past year. He just hadn’t known how to deal with his emotions and had resorted to muzzle his mind instead of pushing through all the muddy chaos that came along with the absence of a responsible adult. 

"We know because you’ve dumped all the business on us when you vanished", he had shot back and barely refrained from growling. He hadn‘t really wanted to turn this into a full-blown fight while Ada and John were in the same room, but there hadn’t been any way in hell that he would just keep his mouth shut when he’d been forced to take on all the duties that weren’t supposed to be in his charge. If their father would have been around, he’d probably have a good job at the stables by now instead of helping out for a few coins whenever he could get away from the books. 

"Had to lie low for a while, leave the city to keep the family save", he had continued with a dismissive sshrug and helped himself to a second glass of the Whiskey that Arthur had brought out. "Keep their attention on me and lure them away, y’know. But I am back now and soon, things will finally fall into place and we will be rich enough to rule these fucking streets and the rest of Birmingham without getting our hands dirty." 

Of course, he hadn’t stuck to his promise. Instead of talking business and revealing his great scheme, he had spent most of the nights at the Garrison and therefore only rose when the sun already hid behind the roofs again. Arthur often accompanied him to help out with the necessary plotting. Sometimes, he had even allowed John to join them to _learn the trade_ and caused him to miss several days of school despite the fact that he wasn’t anywhere close to becoming a legal adult. If it hadn’t been for Polly telling him to have some patience and see where things were headed before making a move, he’d probably broken his fathers jaw when he suggested to take John along for the first time. Instead, he had stayed behind with Polly and Ada who’d done their best to boost his mood while Finn peacefully slept besides the fireplace. 

Things had actually calmed down for a while and Polly had started to soften around Finn and his charming, curious eyes. She didn’t adore him as much as Ada, but watched him for a few hours at a time instead of avoiding his basket by all means. Nevertheless, most of the work ended up on Thomas‘ plate since having a baby around had changed most of their habits. He‘d get up early in the morning to feed Finn and since he was in the kitchen anyways, he also made sure that Ada and John got a reasonable breakfast as well. Unfortunately, he burned that at least a dozen times and earned more complaints than gratitude. Afterwards he’d head out to the betting Shop or the stables while Polly took care of the baby. When he returned in the evenings, he’d usually switch places with Polly who‘d often retreat to her room with a shot of Whiskey to keep the memories of Michael and Anna from hitting her full force. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it worked and he actually stayed busy enough to forget about their father for the better part of the day. 

The inevitable disaster had struck only about two weeks after he had returned to Watery Lane. Thomas had fallen asleep early since the night before had been rough and Finn had still been upset when he’d returned from the stables. The child had still been lying in the safe space between his own body and the wall and none of them had stirred when Arthur and their father had returned in the early hours of the morning, both stumbling over a pair of boots that John had dropped in the hallway. Instead of heading to bed, they’d made their way to the betting Shop and the vault that held all their assets. 

When Thomas had woken up a few hours later, their father and their funds were gone. An empty bottle of Whiskey, sleeping Finn and a devastated Arthur had stayed behind. Their father had convinced him that he needed the few savings they had scraped together during the past months to put his plan into motion and strike a necessary deal with a powerful Gang. He hadn’t even questioned why such a deal required their father to pay his partners or what they would gain in the end. 

That had been the final straw and Thomas had sworn to himself that this man wouldn’t set a foot inside their house again as long as he lived. A man who deliberately robbed his children and left them to starve didn’t deserve any respect or a warm place and if he ever returned to Birmingham, Thomas would make sure that he paid his debt. He’d make sure that Arthur wouldn’t fall for his pretty words and promises again and that this family wouldn’t be crushed under the heavy weight of their financial doom. Suddenly, he‘d felt even more responsible for keeping them all alive and taking up the Job his Father had never done properly. 

"We shouldn’t burn the kitchen down then, eh?", he mused and quickly returned to the hearth as the thin porridge started to overboil and dripping into the flame underneath. While he tightly held the baby in one arm, he quickly grabbed the pot and moved it to the counter. They really couldn’t afford to waste anything, not even poorly made porridge that essentially was a tasteless mush of water and oats. He already knew that John and Ada would complain about it, even though they knew that they needed every drop of fresh milk to feed Finn and therefore had to abstain from some luxuries. 

While he kept trying to stir the porridge without shoving the pot off the counter, the door to the kitchen opened. He quickly glanced at Ada and almost heaved a sigh. Instead of wearing the white blouse and dark blue dress of her school uniform that had cost them a fortune, she’d decided to snatch some of their worn-down pants and a faded Shirt that was twice her size from their closets. She came to stand beside him and peered into the pot, wrinkling her nose at the sight. To his surprise, she didn’t complain though. "You know, if you’d let me come along to the stables today", she started instead and turned to look up at him. „I could probably help out and earn some coin. I know that we need that money to feed Finn and missing one day of school isn’t that bad. 

He couldn’t deny that Ada was right about that. They desperately needed every Penny until the profits of the betting Shop balanced the sudden loss. Yet, he didn’t want that any of his siblings dropped out of school like he had when they had been left to fend for themselves. Ada and John should have the chance to learn more and to be careless children instead of worrying about going hungry for too many days because they were low on funds. It was bad enough that Ada often wore their old clothes around the house since they couldn’t afford more than a few nice dresses. 

"I don’t even know if I’ll have time to drop by the stables today", he finally answered and carefully laid Finn back down since his cries had finally quieted. He’d probably exhausted himself enough to fall back asleep soon. Afterwards, he turned back to Ada who kept frowning at him. "People don’t really have anything to spare for a stable hand these days. Winter’s are rough on them and they’ll do most of the work themselves", he added and hoped that she’d quickly forget about her plan again if he gave reasonable explanations. Ada was a smart girl and she’d started to see through his excuses quite often recently. Otherwise she wouldn’t have considered mucking out stables and ruining her hands with cuts and blisters. 

"See if John’s awake and change into your school dress", he continued just as she opened her mouth again. "I’ll see if I can talk them into letting you help out at weekends", he added as a peace offering. He didn’t really enjoy ordering his siblings around and tended to look for some common ground instead. As a result, discussions rarely backfired and they got along without too many heated fights about the fact that he was barely three years older than Ada and not a legal adult anyways. "Promise." 

Apparently, his proposal seemed good enough for now since Ada actually turned around and headed out of the kitchen. Because the house was quiet and their walls weren’t exactly soundproof anyways, he could clearly make out the words she shouted unabashedly while climbing the creaking stairs: "Get your wretched bottom out of bed, John!" The women that lived in the posh houses across the city probably would have fainted at the string of curse words that followed throughout the next minutes. Thomas only shook his head as a slight grin softened his features at the display of her heritage while he scooped some of the slightly burned porridge into two battered bowls and placed them on the table. 

"Sit down and have breakfast", he instructed once both of his siblings had entered the kitchen. "I am afraid we’re out of sugar, might be a little bland." He could clearly see the hint of disgust that crossed John’s expression when he shoved the first spoon of the porridge into his mouth. Yet, both of them tried to enjoy the food that was at least warm and would keep them on their feet for a while. Therefore, Thomas would hopefully have a few hours to figure something out for their next meals. With that thought in mind, he moved the kettle onto the hearth and checked their leftovers for the umpteenth time. Besides several kinds of tea and some stale bread, the only thing that stared back at him were the empty shelves of the cupboards. They didn’t even have canned milk around since they’d used their usual provisions that were meant for emergencies to feed the baby. 

He’d probably have to resort to stealing to get them through the next weeks. He didn’t exactly mind breaking the law and he’d done it before. Sometimes he simply snuck a few apples or a loaf of bread from an unattended cart, sometimes he went for sweets or cake when he felt like his family really needed something to make them smile. Life had always been rough on them and he’d learned to deal with it by taking a few freedoms. Most people didn’t notice that some of their food had gone missing anyways and even if they actually realised that they had become victims of theft, he’d been at least one step ahead and vanished in the shadows of some alley or blended into the crowd that flooded the streets. 

"Won’t you join us for breakfast?", John muttered around another spoon of porridge and dragged his wandering focus back to his siblings. "I’ll have some later, no worries", he answered and gave a light shrug before turning back to the whistling kettle and taking care of the tea. Whenever they were facing troubles, he usually held back during meals until his siblings were satisfied. By now he had gotten used to going hungry for a week at a time and could handle the side effects without too much strain. "You know if Arthur’s up already?", he finally changed the topic to forgo anymore investigations about his eating habits. Commonly, he was the first to be on his feet even when he hadn’t been roused by a crying baby, but he hadn’t really paid too much attention to anything going on in the rest of the house while he’d tried to save their breakfast from burning to crisps. 

"He’s still snoring like a pig", John answered and a lopsided grin crept onto his Lips. "Trying to break the wall to my room down, I bet." That probably meant that Arthur had been hitting the Pubs again. He’d turned that into a habit when he had realised that their father had fooled him into opening the vault and that there wouldn’t be any great business. Of course, he had also spend a lot of time drinking at the Garrison before everything went downhill. But by now he’d been gone almost every evening, probably trying to drown his sorrow about being at least partially at fault for their misery. 

That had been another reason why he had taken over most of the duties around the house and the betting Shop. His brother’s heart of gold took many thing too heavily and therefore ceased to function while Thomas himself just never stopped and kept pushing through the harsh times. Sometimes, that needed a glass of strong booze and an unhealthy amount of cigarettes to cope with the stress. Yet, he didn’t go ahead to drown his problems and troubles when he still had business to attend and a family to support. He could still take a break once they were in a better place. 

"I sure hope the house’s still standing when he wakes up", he muttered and actually returned the smirk. They didn’t need to know that he would have preferred it if their brother had been up already to take care of Finn. Then he would have had the chance to take care of the empty cupboards before business hours at the betting Shop rolled around. At the same time, it felt quite good to allow himself a tiny Slip-Up of lightheartedness despite the long list of troubles. He genuinely enjoyed joking around with his siblings and probably consented with too many of the freedoms they took. But except for Polly, who scolded them for making too much of a ruckus in the house or the street on occasion, nobody really cared anyways. They were known for their Gypsie-Heritage and therefore most people weren’t really surprised when they did things they deemed bizarre. 

His smile never really faded while his siblings continued eating and kept making remarks about their brother and some teachers Thomas still remembered from a few years ago. Apparently, Miss Davies still had the habit of forgetting what work she had assigned to her class and Mr. Thompson hadn’t gotten rid of the stick he’d swallowed as a child and that served as his backbone. As a result, students kept trying to pull practical jokes on him despite the strict punishment they received when they’d been caught. He almost missed scheming during boring classes when he listened to those stories. He’d rarely been caught and most teachers had in fact held him in high regards as his grades hadn’t been too bad even though he hadn’t been to intent on learning about most subjects they taught. He’d always preferred to spend his time at the stables and to work with the horses. He hadn’t even considered taking over the family business for the longest time, especially not when he had just turned 18 two months ago and they didn’t even have enough money left to pay the few employees they had. It seemed like he’d do that anyways now. 

He quickly pushed those thoughts aside when they tried to divert his attention. Only when Ada and John had hurried off to school and the kitchen turned silent once more, he allowed himself to return to serious business. While he was still pondering about dragging Arthur out of his bed and if his drunk arse would be capable of caring for a baby, Polly walked into the kitchen. She was only dressed in a nightshirt and a knitted coat, but looked less rough around the edges than during the past weeks. She didn’t even avoid the basket anymore. Instead she actually stopped besides it and watched the sleeping boy for a few moments despite the silvers of sadness that still lingered behind the strength of her dark eyes. Maybe it had dawned on her that it probably wasn’t the best idea to leave to adolescents without much of a clue in charge of a baby that needed a lot of attention after losing both parents.

"He finally fell asleep a while ago", he explained when the Silence stretched to a somewhat uncomfortable length. "I’ve fed him when he woke me up, but that’s been a few hours ago." She gave an affirmative hum and tucked the blanket around him before turning to the kettle and helping herself to a cup of tea and taking a Seat. "You know, I was wondering…", he continued and tried to find the right words to ask for a favour without pressuring her into taking care of the baby. She’d lost her own children to strangers without much of a chance of getting them back and he didn’t intend to force anything when she wasn’t in the right mindset. 

"I’ll take care", she interrupted his futile attempts and finally looked up. "You just make sure there’ll be enough food and that the employees don’t go on a rampage. Payday is coming up." He breathed a sigh of relieve and nodded, getting back to his feet. "I’ll find a way, no worries. If I’m not back before the Shop opens, Arthur should be able to take care of business. If he manages to get out of bed before sunset. Seems like he’s been out drinking again." Those words earned him another frown, before Polly shook her head. "Get on your way and I’ll see about that then.“ 

Somewhat reassured that things wouldn’t go straight to hell when he was gone for a few hours, Thomas left the kitchen and shrugged into his coat and the boots he usually wore around the stables. Nevertheless, the cold quickly crept underneath the layers of clothing once he’d stepped outside. He scowled silently and buried his hands in his pockets. He’d given his gloves to John when the first storms had hit them and he’d been almost frozen when he had returned from school. Maybe he should go ahead and steal some clothes as well to get them through the freezing Winters. 

He dismissed that thought while heading down Watery Lane. Before he started dealing with luxuries, he needed to figure out how he’d get his hands on fresh milk and something they could turn into a reasonable meal. It took some minutes of walking until he managed to assemble something along the lines of a plan and started heading for the more attractive districts of Birmingham. He was pretty sure that the inhabitants of Small Heath weren’t able to afford paying a milkman for daily deliveries of fresh goods. Those were luxuries reserved for the people that didn’t go hungry for weeks and had to turn every Penny around twice before spending it. But he might be lucky enough to track the milkman down and either steal directly from his cart or from the doorsteps of the people that hadn’t brought the delivered milk inside because it wasn’t of much worth to them. 

Regardless of the fact that he usually kept at least one eye at his surroundings, he must have gotten distracted by the details of his plan. One moment he was walking down a narrow street that made an excellent shortcut, the next someone forcefully pushed him into the brick wall to his left. It knocked the wind out of his lungs and during the few seconds it took for his brain to comprehend what was going on, his attackers had already pinned him against the wall. Calloused hands seized his wrists and forced them onto his back. Then his instincts kicked in and he started to fight back, trying to pull his hands free and blindly kicking backwards in the hopes of doing enough damage to get them to loosen their grip. Once his face wasn’t shoved up against a wall anymore, he could probably manage to get the situation under his control again until they backed down or he’d figured out what the hell was going on. 

He seemed to be lucky enough and his heel slammed into a shinbone, evicting a low grunt from one of the men and causing him to lose his footing and the tight grasp on his wrists. Without a second thought, Thomas yanked one of his hands free and pushed himself off the wall, whirling around and throwing a punch at the same time. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the capacity to actually aim for the second man and his fist only brushed along his jaw and barely made an impact. He probably wouldn’t even sport any kind of bruise. Thomas only growled in frustration and squared his shoulders to follow through with another, better aimed punch. People needed to learn whose path they shouldn’t cross and he would teach them that Lesson on behalf of his family and their business, even though they stood on somewhat wobbly feet right now. 

He actually seemed to gain some ground at first, breaking at least two fingers that weren’t his own in the tangle of limbs and aggravated shouts. Until they suddenly had him cornered with an additional man that had appeared out of nowhere. He only saw a flash of metal before the handle of a gun slammed against his temple, turning the world fuzzy and his knees weak. He desperately tried to keep himself grounded despite the white flash of pain that came along with the sensation, but reality slipped right through his fingers and he eventually gave in to the viscid darkness that dulled all his senses. Apparently, life planned to keep slipping wooden dimes into his pockets these days. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ◇ I don't know how this happened and where I am going with this. Peaky Blinders hit me hard enough to knock any sense out of my Brain, I suppose. I haven't written anything along the lines of Fanfiction since roundabout ten Years and I am still trying to figure the Storyline out. It's probably going to be centered around the family without much Romance since I don't really feel like creating Characters for that purpose only.
> 
> ◇ I am really trying to do justice to the Characters and to include all Details mentioned in the Show. Since WWI hasn't happened yet, some traits might be a little different than during the actual Series.
> 
> ◇ I am very slow when it comes to writing (and I am still surprised I never missed a Deadline without anyone pointing a gun at my head when I earned money with my scribbling). It took me a Week to write the first Draft and a second Week to edit. Once I've started my new Job in two months, I might need even more time to get Chapters done.
> 
> ◇ English isn't my first language and I haven't written more than Drabbles lately (and I am pretty sure I am a lot more eloquent in my mother tongue). I am sorry about mistakes I might have made.
> 
> ◇ "Dinlow" is Romani and means something like "fool".
> 
> ◇ The Title goes back to 20's Slang. Taking wooden Dimes/Nickles essentially meant someone did something dumb. I bend the meaning a little and turned it into something along the lines of having bad luck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, it was still a Tradition to shoot the Messenger.

Something about his situation wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t really get to the bottom of that feeling. His thoughts never really cut through the heavy darkness that surrounded him and seemed to dissipate quickly when he tried to push beyond the veil to retain them for more than a few seconds. It was exhausting and he was tempted to give in to the weariness and slip back into the peaceful silence. He would have to return to the conscious world and his responsibilities for dozens of things soon enough. Forgetting about the the crushing weight on his shoulders for a while actually felt like a pleasant change of pace. He could still tend to the important matters in a few hours. Business at the betting Shop tended to be slow in the mornings anyways and even Arthur wouldn’t manage to get into too much trouble.  


He wasn’t quite sure if that thought stirred him up or if his survival instincts finally kicked in, but the events of the morning slowly tumbled back into their places. He hadn’t been out to deal with business or to head to the stables for a few meagre Pennies. He had tried to ease some of their troubles by snitching some bottles of fresh milk from the doorstep of one of the upscale houses at the other side of town because they couldn’t feed Finn with anything else. He hadn’t even covered half of the distance when he’d been assaulted by three strangers and knocked out with the handle of a gun.  


It took a remarkable amount of determination to pry his eyes open and raise his chin from his chest despite the haze that had taken up residence in his head. His surroundings didn’t come into focus right away and he kept squinting aimlessly into a blurry variety of colours. When he tried to rub his eyes and force them to obey his orders, he discovered that he couldn’t move his hands. A thick rope cut into his wrists and he couldn’t do anything except for helplessly flexing his fingers before relaxing again. Apparently, they had taken precautions and tied his hands behind the back of the chair to make sure he didn’t wreck havoc on this place and say his Goodbyes by fighting his way out.  


He probably wouldn’t even have done that if he hadn’t been constrained. It wasn’t exactly the best strategy to head straight for a fight when he didn’t have a clue about how many people he’d have to fight off and how quickly he could get to safety once he’d escaped the building. Considering that he couldn’t recall how long he’d been out of commission, he could already be in London or in the midst of Scottish Wasteland. Even though his vision was mostly back to normal when he didn’t turn his head too quickly, he couldn’t even peek through the windows on his left. The heavy curtains that covered them only allowed a greyish light and the muffled sounds of a somewhat busy street to soak into the room. That definitely wasn’t enough to find out more about his whereabouts and the time of the day.  


He heaved a frustrated sigh and turned his head again, ignoring the wave of dizziness that tried to pull him back behind the veil of darkness for a second. Perhaps he’d be lucky enough to come across something that answered at least some of his questions when he examined the room. He hadn’t even had the chance to figure anything out about his attackers before he’d been knocked out. On account of the fact that they had gone through the troubles of transporting an unconscious person to some fancy room he was fairly sure that they hadn’t assaulted him because they didn’t like his face. Neither had it been a beating that was supposed to teach him a lesson. Otherwise they would have made sure he knew their names before leaving him in the dirt.  


The room actually was quite the opposite of some lonely backstreet in Birmingham. If he hadn’t been tied to a chair, it might actually have been comfortable. He most definitely preferred the warmth of the flames that quietly crackled in the fireplace over waking up with freezing cobblestones pressed against his cheek and muddy snow soaking through his clothes. Someone must have added new logs recently to make sure that the Winter’s cold breath stayed outside while they were dealing with business. Across from the fireplace there even were two armchairs, a small coffee table and a serving cart that held several bottles of expensive booze and some pretty glasses. The whole sight made him feel as if he’d just invaded someone’s drawing room and some enraged housewife would kick him out once she discovered his trespassing.  


Internally scolding his thoughts for taking such pointless detours, he turned away from the seating group to examine the remaining furniture. Two bookshelves that neatly fit into the wainscoting and a desk made from dark wood took up most of the space across from his seat. Some books and papers were neatly stacked besides a delicate gas lamp. It seemed that this room was used as an office despite all of the luxurious pieces of furniture. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get to his feet and look through the documents that might have given him more information about the owner of this place and some leverage in case he’d need it. That probably had been the second reason why they had tied his hands. He didn’t really enjoy the idea of having strangers look through the books at the betting Shop either.  


Taken as a whole, there was only one thing that his surroundings practically screamed in his face. Someone was trying hard to intimidate him with all those luxuries. He was supposed to duck his head in terror, because he didn’t belong in this glorious world as his life consisted of nothing but worn-down clothes, battered hands and empty cupboards. But he couldn’t really sort out for what purpose they needed him to keep his head low and his tongue tied. Thinking straight proved to be a challenge in itself since the dull pain that had lingered behind his temples had turned into a heavy throbbing after assessing every single component of his precarious situation. Considering that the gun must have hit him pretty hard, he’d probably be dealing with a persistent headache and other side effects for a while. He definitely wasn’t looking forward to that sequel of his bad Luck. The last time he had taken a blow to his head and passed out, Polly had forced him to stay in bed for almost two weeks. It had been his fifteenth birthday and Charlie had finally allowed him to ride a mare they had been breaking in for the past month. Saddling the chestnut hadn’t been a problem, but once he had carefully lowered himself onto her back, she had bolted. He had dealt with bucking horses before, but once his boots had slipped out of the stirrups, he had went flying. The next thing he had registered was him lying on the hard ground with Charlie kneeling over him.  


Leastwise he didn’t have to figure his whereabouts out back then. All he’d unravelled during the past minutes was that he was in trouble and that he didn’t have any clue about the reasons. They didn’t really have enough influence to attract unwanted attention to the betting Shop and the small amount of additional business. The few Bookies they employed usually held their tongues since they didn’t want to lose their jobs because some coppers had smelled a rat and tried to smoke it out. The same applied for the people who placed their bets off track. The rush of adrenaline and the slight chance of winning had them hooked even if they lost the savings of three months within two days.  


He tried the ropes again when those thoughts didn’t lead him anywhere. He carefully ran his fingertips along the rough material to feel for the knots and tugged at a loose end that was within his reach, but it didn’t do much since he could barely move around in the first place. The knots had been tied properly and wouldn’t come undone unless someone pried them open in a painfully slow process or cut through the rope. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the means to accomplish either and struggling against the bonds was a futile battle. It’d only leave his wrists skinned and bruised.  


He growled in frustration once more and really wished he could at least reach into the pocket of his coat to retrieve the packet of cigarettes and some matches. He was still getting used to the bitter taste, but maybe the smoke would’ve cleared his thoughts enough to prepare for causalities and form a solid plan. Since he most definitely wasn’t dealing with lowlife criminals that had knocked him out by mere luck, he would be better off that way. Surprise never was a good companion, especially not in situations that left little room for mistakes. Neither was the haze that had crept back into his head despite his continuous attempts to set his thoughts straight and keep them from spinning in circles.  


He was almost glad that he didn’t get to finish another round. Unfortunately, that also meant he didn’t have a plan when the door to the office opened and revealed three men. Two of them wore clothes that reminded him of his own despite the fact that their cuffs weren’t as battered and the leather of their shoes wasn’t cracked from wearing them for years. In combination with their broad shoulders and bulky muscles, they almost looked as out of place as Thomas felt in the luxurious office. Their hands had probably been stained with enough blood to keep them soaked for the rest of their lives. He couldn’t really remember the faces of his attackers since the events had quickly headed for a direction where fists mattered more than features, but he was fairly sure those were the men who had pushed him into the brick wall. A nasty bruise had started to form on the neck of the right man while to other kept his freshly bandaged fingers close to his body.  


They positioned themselves on both sides of the doorway while the third guy stopped besides the cart by the fireplace and casually poured himself a drink. In contrast to his Fellows, he actually had the looks of a Gentleman. He wore a three-piece suit made from what seemed to be pure black wool and his shirt with its starched white collar looked like it had just been picked up from the tailor’s shop. His thin blonde hair had been slicked back with a generous amount of Brilliantine and his demeanour presumably would have been intimidating to most of the working-class people out in the streets. Even Tommy felt the urge to keep his head low for a few seconds until he reminded himself that he wouldn’t back down by any means. He had learned to stand his ground on the streets and out in the hostile wilderness. He’d had more blood smeared on his face and more dirt under his Fingernails than that man had ever touched. Pretty clothes and a luxurious office wouldn’t cause his confidence to start wavering.  


“I am glad you found me an errand boy that could make it here on such short notice”, he finally broke the silence. Even though he had addressed the two thugs guarding the doorway, his words were clearly meant for Thomas. The gaze of his deep-set eyes had already shifted to him and examined him without much interest. Apparently, he didn’t even care whom his thugs had abducted. They had just gone for the first person that had left the house and seemed to be involved with the business. That insight made him feel nauseous and relieved at the same time. Arthur would have been an easy target when he’d returned from the Garrison in the early hours of the morning. They could have laid hands on John and Ada when they had left for school without anyone noticing until they didn’t return in the afternoon.  


“You’re not into Smalltalk, I guess”, he continued smoothly and picked his glass up before heading over to the desk. “That’s what they expect from an errand noy nowadays, I suppose. Quietly memorising the message and exact orders and delivering it without speaking to strangers.” Obviously pleased with his deduction, he took a long drink from his glass. Thomas merely watched his movements, noting that his sleeve had slid back and revealed parts of a complex tattoo that covered his right arm. He didn’t see enough to make any sense of the black lines and blotches, but it was enough to undermine his first assumptions. People who made legal business usually avoided tattoos since many people associated inked skin with crime and prison. It would have ruined their reputations and trades within mere hours once the word spread.  


“Too bad I can’t invite you for a drink of this excellent brand”, he carried on with the useless conversation and heaved a sigh that wasn’t quite sincere. If he had been auditioning for a play, they would have probably kicked him off the stage at this point. To his sorrow, Tommy couldn’t accomplish something along those lines while he was tied to a chair. “Can’t really open the bonds after you broke my fellow’s fingers when all he did was politely hiring you for a job, can I?”, the alleged Gentleman added and comfortably settled his bottom against the desk. He apparently liked to listen to his own voice instead of coming straight to the point. It did nothing to help the throbbing ache that kept messing with his thoughts and reasoning.  


“What’s Business?”, he finally snapped when the Blond opened his mouth again before he could start talking about the awful weather or an equally horrifying topic. He actually looked startled for a second, then he affected a laugh. “You’re quite bold for an errand boy, aren’t you?”, he mused and lightly tapped his glass with one of his fingers. Thomas was tempted to roll his eyes despite the fact that he was still in a worrisome position and most likely shouldn’t mess with three strangers. They behaved as if this was some stupid joke and kept him from more important matters. Yet, he swallowed the remarks that tried to escape past his lips. He wouldn’t give them any Information they could use for blackmailing in case they figured out that he was a Shelby and basically pulling the strings at the betting Shop right now.  


“Alright”, the Blond gave in when the silence stretched to an uncomfortable length. “Let’s talk business since you’re that enthusiastic about delivering our message.” He still took the time to have one more drink of his Whiskey before he placed the glass aside and started talking again: “We’ve been watching your little business for quite a while now.” He spoke agonisingly slow and laced his words with such a sickening amount of goodwill that Thomas could taste it at the back of his throat. Maybe that man’s self-awareness really was distorted enough for him to believe he was a saint offering salvation. Too bad that neither the church nor the school had managed to make him believe in such concepts.  


“Usually, we don’t take too much interest in small trades”, he continued and Tommy felt the strong urge to hit him in the face until his patronising smile faded from his lips. But he still couldn’t do more than helplessly flexing his fingers and pushing against the ropes that wouldn’t loosen and deeply cut into his skin. “But we are quite interested in your territories, the lovely little kingdom you’ve build in Small Heath. Despite the fact that the streets are covered in trash and that it might take a while to drive all the pitiable rats out.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this man wasn’t talking about literal rats, but about his Kin and all the people that had been unlucky enough to end up in Small Heath. Yet Tommy drew a long breath, willing himself to relax his uptight muscles and form a solid plan before he went on a rampage.  


At the least, he wasn’t fumbling around in the dark anymore. They were after the rule over Small Heath since it apparently had some worth to them. Otherwise they wouldn’t have tried to expand their territory and avoid the usual bloodshed between Gangs by offering them a questionable deal at the same time. Friendly acquisition always caused less trouble than shootings in the streets and violent murders. It also meant that they didn’t know about their current situation and that they barely survived because things had been falling apart for quite a while now. They could count their allies on the fingers of one hand and the business besides the betting Shop barely filled their pockets with more than a few Dimes. People probably only kept paying the danegeld because they feared that their Grandfather would rise from the dead and haunt them if they refused.  


“You see, we heard that your throne had been deserted not too long ago.” He snapped out of his thoughts when the Blond continued, thoughtfully running his fingers along the rim of the glass. The smile remained on his face and he really wished he could wipe it off with a well-aimed punch. “We’re offering you a deal to help you out.” Thomas only snorted in response. He was pretty sure that the whole proposition was nothing but a facade and that the trade would leave them without a stitch on. There wasn’t a single person in this business that stroke up a deal to help someone out of a ditch. They did that to make money without dirtying their hands.  


Surprisingly, the Blond actually shut his mouth for a few minutes and pondered about his next words. Perhaps he hadn’t been anticipating objections from someone he’d deemed to be one of the runners that wasn’t intimately involved with the business. Some years back he would have been right. It had never been a secret that Tommy preferred the work at the stables over the jobs at the betting Shop. Something about those creatures had always been intriguing him more than numbers and chances. It didn’t mean that he couldn’t see through a plan when people spread the maps in front of him though. He could easily determine if something reeked worse than the canals and the old fishes they tried to sell at the markets. Small Heath was one of the best teachers about business and passing up on minging deals.  


“You see, we’d take the burden of ruling since you’ll need a King to survive”, he explained and brushed some invisible dust off his sleeve. “As I said, we aren’t interested in your petty business. You could keep the Shop, provided that you can account for our usual fees and overwrite a certain percentage of your gains to our organisation.” Tommy really wished that the Blond would at least come close enough for him to spit right into his face. This wasn’t even a reeking deal, it was an insult to his Kin. They wouldn’t have survived such a bargain for more than a few months even if their father hadn’t ravaged the vault and taken off with all of their savings. Even if they hadn’t build a real empire yet and constantly struggled to stay on their feet, it was the blood of his family that had been shed and their hands that had been bruised to keep them alive to this point. He wouldn’t have traded that even if they had offered him a reasonable amount of money for their throne. They had given enough to the world already.  


Once those pieces had clicked into place, Tommy knew which role he’d play in this game. He surely would have a more peaceful life when he got a job at the stables and made his living with the horses. But that wasn’t going to happen. People would always attempt to take from them to increase their own wealth and to force them into submission. That was the only reason why they ruled the world and why people like himself had to worry about food and money every single day of their lives. His family hadn’t suffered through all the hardships to back down now. They hadn’t crawled out of the dirt again and again to be kicked until they stopped trying because their limbs grew weak and their willpower faded away.  


“The throne you’re talking about has already been claimed.” Tommy didn’t move an inch, only raised his head and offered a calm smile. He held the gaze of the Blond with ease and that seemed to throw him off course completely. People that didn’t recoil at the first show of force apparently hadn’t been an issue in his world of luxuries and leisure. This time he had simply picked the wrong person to play his games. “The King is dead, long live the King. Isn’t that what the rats chant in the streets?”  


One of the thugs by the door stepped forward, until the Blond stopped him with a wave of his hand. “There’s one more rule you should know about, boy”, he sneered and pushed himself away from the desk. The light shifted and cast deep shadows on his face when he slowly moved towards him, a malicious smile spreading over his features and tugging them into a grimace. His goodwill was long gone, replaced by the readiness to dastardly slay half of Small Heath. “If you don’t give the streets up freely and happily accept the conditions I proposed, you’ll sow rage and harvest war.” He came close enough that Tommy could see the structure of his irises and the small wrinkles around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. “We have soldiers, we have weapons and we won't hesitate to hunt every single rat down until the streets are clean again.”  


The thought of having his Family murdered made his heart drop to his stomach. Yet, he didn’t give in to the urge to avert his eyes and silently reminded himself of the vows he’d made in the past weeks. He wouldn’t start wavering now, he would keep pushing through for his family despite the fact that life constantly tried to put spokes in his wheel to make him stumble. “You don’t have to make a decision right away, of course.” The Blond fell back into his casual tone and straightened his back, giving him some space again. “In fact, I am fairly sure that you’re not even old enough to be out of school yet. You should leave those serious decisions to the people in charge. You’re only an errand boy and all you will do with these information is making sure that it gets through to your self-proclaimed King.”  


Involuntarily, his fingers curled into fists once more and he barely felt the burning pain that surged through his wrists when they chafed against the rough material of the ropes. He’d given anything to make sure that this man knew he was more than a boy since years. Growing up in Small Heath and losing both parents for quite different reasons had taken his innocence away within mere months and he’d quickly learned that family was the only thing he could count on when things went to hell.  


“I am feeling quite generous today. You’ve got a week to think about the proposition”, he finally concluded and turned to head for the door. Halfway there, he stopped once more and turned back again. “If you still insist the throne has been claimed by then, better prepare for the King and his successors to die by the hands of the _Syndicate_.” The patronising smile was back on his face. “My two friends here will make sure that you get home safely.” He turned back around and reached for the door handle before speaking once more. This time he didn’t look back, though. “And I am sure they won’t mind making sure what a real battle would taste like beforehand. Just to make sure your King actually considers our offers and to return your friendly gestures from the streets.” With that the door shut and Tommy knew he was in for more trouble than he had bargained for. Apparently, it was still a tradition to shoot the messenger – or at least make sure he was worse for wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ◇ Brillantine is an early form of Pomade (Hair Grease). 
> 
> ◇ I grealty enjoyed writing this Chapter and I learned a lot of things about the early 1900s. I am definitely not an Expert about that Century (I've always been more of a 1800s-Person due to focusing on that Period throughout my Studies), but I sure hope that everything turned out reasonable.
> 
> ◇ I know that the whole Fiction is heavily relying on Thoughts. That's probably because I am still trying to get a feeling for writing Tommy since he's such a complex Character (and we dont know much about him before WWI) and that he's just a "Think-a-lot" in general.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was only one person outside of the family he would’ve trusted with his life.

The ground beneath his feet was swaying and he quickly clutched the narrow ledge before his knees could give way once again. He couldn’t stop and take a break right now. It had already taken ten minutes to drag himself upright and he really hated wasting his time by such futile means. Especially since those thugs had dropped him off in a dingy backyard that reeked like something had been rotting there for decades. He most definitely wasn’t squeamish and had seen a wide variety of disgusting things, but he could still taste bile at the back of his throat. The throbbing pain that had settled inside his skull didn’t exactly help the situation, too. That he’d skipped breakfast for the sake of his siblings suddenly felt like a wise decision and remained his only comfort.

Once the world had stopped spinning and he’d swallowed the bile, he slowly released the ledge and staggered away from the crooked wall to have a look around the backyard. The dull windows above reminded him of blinded eyes that gazed at a world they couldn’t see anymore. Gusts of wind howled in the chimneys and rattled the loose roofing tiles. Otherwise it was eerily quiet and he would have been convinced that night had fallen already if it hadn’t been for the greyish clouds that veiled the sky. Those who weren’t lucky enough to have a job or worked the night shifts probably hid in the tiny apartments, trying to keep the cold outside.

He rubbed his bruised wrist with a grimace and resumed the laboured walk towards the murky passage that let him onto a street he wasn’t quite acquainted with. Of course, those bastards hadn’t dropped him off in Small Heath. It would have been too obvious and someone could have followed them to their quarters. By the time he reached safety and his kin now, they would be gone and not even the dogs would be able to smell them out beneath the stench of decomposition. Hopefully, that also meant they would stay away from their borders until the week was up and they had to make a decision.

„Direction of Small Heath?“, he rasped and grabbed a boy that skipped along the street. He squeaked in surprise and almost dropped the cornet he was carrying, his wide green eyes filling with dread when he glanced up. Then he pointed into the opposite direction and hurriedly changed the side of the road once Tommy had released his shoulder. If he hadn’t been stone broke, he would have rewarded the scrawny boy with a Penny. But since that business hazard of a father had decided they didn’t need money to survive, he didn’t even have a button in his pockets anymore.

He cursed him and those thugs under his breath while he dragged himself along the road. Someone must have tied the leaden weights they sometimes used to train the horses to his ankles when he’d been unconscious. He could still feel the sting of every single bruise they’d left on his skin and his breath soon came in ragged gasps, forming small clouds of white mist in front of his lips. He was fairly sure that the inability to inhale properly meant he had at least one slightly broken rib. He couldn’t deny that they hadn’t been taking any chances. They’d worked thoroughly, making sure he remembered the deal they’d offered when he reported to the King.

Fortunately, they still didn’t know they had abducted a Shelby and that he was the one person in all of Birmingham that considered taking the throne in earnest. Of course, he trusted Arthur and Polly and wouldn’t have minded to relinquish the rule to them. But he could read them like open books and knew that the additional weight of the crown would have crushed them at this point. The past weeks had left them exhausted and he would do everything within his Powers to give them some rest. He didn’t mind running himself into the ground for that cause in the slightest.

The mixture of rain and snow that was quite common for late autumn had started to fall again when he finally reached one of the backstreets he had walked along a thousand times since he’d been barely old enough to leave the house alone. Some snowflakes settled onto his face and soothed the cracked skin of his lower Lip and the bruise that had started to form along his jawline. Yet, he started shivering and wished for the warmth of a crackling fire. His coat hadn’t dried completely despite the time he’d spent inside, and the cold easily crawled back underneath the scratchy wool and into his bones. Especially once the steady deluge started dripping down his neck and seeping through the cracked leather of his boots.

He cursed the weather for adding to his misery and tried to quicken his pace, which only caused him to lose his balance for a few precarious seconds. A woman that could have been his Grandmother and tried to shield her groceries from the rain, shot him a disgusted glance. “You should get a job instead of getting shitfaced this early in the day, Lad”, she scoffed loudly enough for the few other people on the street to look in their direction. If he hadn’t been exhausted and busy with keeping his strained muscles under control, he might have been tempted to start establishing their rule right then and there. Instead, he flipped his collar up and continued without a word. There were more important things than people criticising his decisions about life right now. They had always been doing that and unless they were kin, he absolutely didn’t give a damn.

Instead of heading to Watery Lane straight away once he’d reached Small Heath, he took a turn to the right. He still had to deal with two things before he could return home. Otherwise his little brother would be suffering and eventually die of starvation. He was barely seven months old and had already gone through losing his parents and being abandoned with people that probably were nothing more than strangers at the moment. Tommy really wished he’d at least have once conscious memory of his Mom. It would still have been painful to deal with the loss, but he’d have had something to hold onto during the suffocating darkness of the night. He wouldn’t have had to imagine how her voice sounded and how gentle her hands had been when she’d rocked him to sleep. All those questions meant there had never been a bond that been severed. They meant his Mom would be a perfect stranger for the rest of his life. If there was only one thing that he could do to ease the burden on Finn, he wouldn’t spare the effort. Not even when there was dried blood on his face and he could barely force his limbs into obedience.

He’d need some help in those matters though. He’d learned to ignore the condition of his body to some extent and rarely asked for favours, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to walk through half of Birmingham to steal some milk from a doorstep. Neither would he be able to pick any pockets. They had made sure that his right hand would be useless for a while, suspecting that he was used to making a living with long fingers and taking advantage of people that didn’t pay attention. He could have given it a shot anyways, but he’d probably been caught because he’d not quite gotten the hang of using his non-dominant hand for anything that required more than basic skills. And he honestly didn’t feel like running from the Coppers.

There was only one person outside of the family he would’ve trusted with his life. Unfortunately, whipping round to his place almost doubled the distance he had to walk. Tommy usually didn’t mind doing the footwork and had often volunteered to collect the sparse fees that people paid them for security. He hadn’t really known anything else than using his own legs to get anywhere in town since they’d settled in Small Heath. They couldn’t keep horses around the house and those fancy automobiles that sometimes rumbled over the uneven cobblestones were a luxury only the rich could afford.

But today was one of those rotten days he almost wished he hadn’t left the house or gotten out of bed. Maybe his decision to ascend to the abandoned throne had been another wooden Dime he shouldn’t have picked up and stuffed in his pocket. It had been a decision he’d made in a heated moment of rage and it would potentially lead them straight to their graves or at least ruin their business if the blond man hadn’t blagged. He hadn’t been able to read his cards to that extent. On the other hand, it really wasn’t that hard to have more men and weapons than they did at this very moment.

All the same, the flame they had ignited with their comments still burned underneath his doubts. Knowing that their situation would get even worse if they didn’t start digging themselves out of the ditch right away, actually helped nourishing it back to a bright blaze. They had always recovered in the past and they had always been quick about decisions. A week was plenty of time to strike up some new deals, to scramble up some money and start establishing the rule over Small Heath. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t be enough to run that _Syndicate_ into the ground straight away, but they’d be able to buy themselves some time. And if they still couldn’t beat them with soldiers and weapons, they’d do it with incisiveness and skill. The street had taught them quite some shenanigans and there was a reason why they had survived as thieves and illegal bookmakers despite all the struggles of the past. Working in that business took precision and the ability to foresee what people would do in certain situations. Sometimes it even meant tricking them into believing that they were making the right decisions while they ripped them off.

Convincing those thugs that he was merely a boy and not even one of the bookies, might have been a first step towards victory. He could calmly pull the strings without anyone realising that he was the King they wanted to overthrow. He’d also love to see their faces once they found out they could have murdered him on the spot to skirt around the whole battle. Then again, Tommy was fairly sure that Polly would have fought them off in that case. She rarely showed them off these days, but she had claws and wasn’t afraid to use them on anyone who caused trouble. There had been times when she’d left bruises on his skin when he’d done something dumb like headbutting an officer when he’d been caught red-handed. She was a fierce fighter and had more guts than some of the men that had tried to run with the Gang throughout the years.

Nevertheless he wasn’t quite in which direction they’d be moving with the second step. Once he’d taken care of the issues that had caused him to leave Watery Lane in the first place, he’d have to figure that out. With that scheme in mind, he crossed a road and ducked into the doorway of a small house that looked like it had been squished between the other buildings. It was equally run down as his own home, with dull windows and entrance stairs that had started to crumble. Yet, it still mostly educed happy memories of the careless days when he’d still been in school and spent a lot of the warm evenings of summer by sitting on these stairs.

For a few seconds, he did nothing but heavily leaning against the doorframe. When he’d finally found the strength to lift his hand, he knocked two times and hoped it was enough that someone would notice. There once had been a small knocker, but it had succumbed to the harsh winters. It had been a rusty chunk and abrasive enough to cut through skin which could have led to nasty cases of blood poisoning. At some point, they’d just removed it without a replacement.

He quickly lost track of time while he waited, willing Freddie to be home and not out for some shady job he’d accepted for money. His family was struggling as most people in Small Heath did and it wasn’t quite easy to catch him most days. Tommy didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if his Grandmother who knew nothing about the crooked business opened to door instead of his best friend. Hell, he wasn’t even sure how he’d explain his injuries to his own family without them howling in bloodlust. One more reason why he’d decided to take the detour despite the biting cold and his unsteady gait.

When he finally heard footsteps pouncing down the creaky stairs and skidding to a halt on the other side of the door, Tommy heaved a sigh of relieve. He knew those unbridled footsteps. Just a few seconds more and he was greeted by a head of tousled brown hair and a yawn. Yet, Freddie only gave him one look before he reached out and unceremoniously dragged him inside the house. Tommy stumbled a little at the sudden impact that removed him from the steady doorframe, but surprisingly managed to catch his footing. It would have been rather embarrassing if he’d literally went like a bull at a gate and faceplanted right at the bare feet of his best friend.

“What the actual hell, Tommy”, he snorted, straining to keep him upright and pushing the door closed with his toes. Tommy only squinted a few times until the world came back into focus. ”I don’t have time to explain”, he muttered and shook the hands off that still held onto his shoulders. He longed to take a seat in the warm kitchen and remain there unmoving for the next hours. Getting to the house had drained his resources and he wasn’t sure if he could manage the walk back to Watery Lane anymore. Least not when he’d have to explain the happenings in detail.

“Don’t even think about running off. You look like you’ll keel over any second”, Freddie interrupted his thoughts and got hold of his shoulders again. Tommy winced lightly, suddenly remembering the bruises that had started to form on his skin. He allowed Freddie to guide him into the small kitchen to the right anyways. Fighting back would have taken more power than he had up his sleeve. “Sit down”, Freddie ordered and pushed him towards one of the chairs. “Or I’ll make you”, he added when Tommy didn’t butch, nudging him gently and furiously at the same time. Sadly, he had gotten quite used to seeing his best friend battered and hesitant to return home because he had gotten into trouble. Though, he hadn’t been abducted before. They’d caught him picking pockets on several occasions when he’d still figured the trades out after moving into the house at Watery Lane. Other times he’d just fallen out with some people that had mocked him or his siblings in the streets and tried to defile their heritage. By all means, Freddie knew exactly what he was dealing with and he probably wouldn’t tolerate any discussion. He’d always been stubborn as a mule, that idiot. Almost as stubborn as Tommy himself.

For once, he actually had to get home though. But somehow he still obeyed and took a seat despite his intentions. At the very least that kept the ground from swaying beneath his feet and his head from swimming too much. Freddie didn’t make a comment for now, rummaging through the cupboards and moving the kettle back into the flames that quietly cracked in the fireplace. The ruckus made him feel like his head might explode, splattering his brain onto the scratched table and the dusty floorboards.

Fortunately, it didn’t take too long before Freddie took a seat as well and pushed a steaming cup in front of him. He kept quiet, but his eyes were expectant. It had become some kind of tradition when he showed up at his doorstep. They’d have some tea and he’d explain what had happened and Freddie never made a fuss. Sometimes it even was the other way around, but Freddie rarely got in trouble nowadays. Having a job and working long hours didn’t leave much time for dumb ideas – and he didn’t have to deal with an infant and people that emptied the vault and left without a word. Or maybe Freddie was just a lucky bastard and cheated the gallows before the hangman could release the hatch.

“You need to do me a Favour”, he rasped when he’d finally gathered the energy to speak. Goodness, he hated those stupid thugs for ganging up on him when he’d already been knocked out once and tied up for what must have been a few hours. They could have killed him without much effort and he hated admitting that he’d been this vulnerable. He wasn’t weak by any means and he’d always made sure that people knew that from the very start, but there still were certain limits to his abilities and he didn’t really fancy acknowledging them in front of witnesses.  
Freddie only stared at him in bewilderment. “You come here looking like you’ve been trampled by one of those crazy horses and you ask for favours”, he stated as if he wasn’t believing his own words and needed to listen to them outside of his mind. He almost acted like he wasn’t used to Tommy doing foolish things despite the fact that they’d spent most of their schooldays in the same classrooms and every free minute on the streets of Small Heath. The opportunities to meet had only started to be limited when Tommy had dropped out of school and taken up jobs to provide for his family. “Are you a fucking Yampy now?”

He only returned his gaze blankly. Somehow he hadn’t anticipated that reaction and it made the while issue much more tiresome. “I really don’t mind patching you up every time, even though I returned more working the night barely two hours ago”, Freddie continued when he failed to respond. “But you do realise it’s fairly insane to quite literally fall into the house and then ask for favours?” His ranting reminded him of Polly, but lacked her physical chastisement. “What stupid scheme are you up to this time?”

“The horses aren’t crazy and I am not up to any scheme”, he retorted. He couldn’t help the defensive tone of voice that lurked at the back of his throat despite knowing that his best friend wouldn’t accuse him of anything that wasn’t at the odds with the truth. “I just don’t have time for explanations.” Freddie furrowed his brow, worry clouding his features and softening the flare of rage that had accompanied his words. He must have started to understand that he was dealing with issues that severely interfered with his life. Perhaps because Tommy was beside himself and he was able to sense his shifting emotions. 

“Least let me take a look at those fingers.” He was bargaining now, basically asking for his permission to care for the worst injuries if he couldn’t get any explanation. They had played this game before and Tommy was actually tempted to agree without the usual bantering. He definitely didn’t like to be mothered, especially not by someone his age. But his fingers had turned purple by now and the room kept tilting with every movement even though he’d firmly planted both of his feet onto the ground. He really wished he could just catch a break for once, allow Freddie to see to his injuries and crash in his bed for a few hours before he dragged himself back to Watery Lane. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen today.

“I’ve barely seen you during the past weeks and now you don’t even speak to me?”, he continued. He could feel the sulkiness beneath the words and only now realised that he’d failed to respond for the second time within minutes. Freddie deserved more than him staring into the middle distance. He’d made up excuses when he had skipped School, helped him sneak out at night to meet a girl he fancied and once even forced him to take his new coat. He’d been able to avoid leaving the House during a vicious storm to fetch medicine for John and would have been drenched since all he had was a worn-down coat from his Grandfather’s closet that had more holes than an old hessian sack.

“It’s been busy”, he finally sighed and held his gaze. “I promise I will explain everything when I’ve got more time.” He tried to make some peace and redirect the attention away from his injuries. Maybe he wouldn’t think too much about the pain when people stopped asking and therefore reminding him of its existence. That at least was the lie he told himself despite knowing perfectly well that these bruises would always find a way to sneak back into his consciousness. “The past month was rough in many matters and today went from bad to worse within a few hours.”

Freddie only raised an eyebrow. His patience was nearly as irritating as the lingering rage. “What do you need?”, he finally caved in when the silence stretched to an uncomfortable length and Tommy still didn’t give him more of an explanation. He wasn’t fond of manipulating Freddie with his unresponsiveness, but facing the issues by giving them a name required more strength than he could procure. Neither did he know enough about the _Syndicate_ to really have an insight. They obviously were a Gang, but he’d never heard their name despite the fact that the streets were full of rumours carried on by hushed voices and fearful whispers.

“Can you get a hold of some cow’s milk? Fresh and bottled, not canned if somehow possible”, he answered and tried to read his face. He knew it wasn’t going to be an easy task and he’d make sure to return the kindness soon. Otherwise his conscience would feel as sore as his ribcage at some point. He couldn’t really read his expression though and eventually picked the battered teacup up, almost spilling its contents in the process with his shaking hands.

“Since when are you into such luxuries?”, Freddie inquired once he’d placed the mug back onto the table. It was only then that Tommy remembered he hadn’t had any chance to tell him about Finn. Or about his Dad and the money he’d taken from the vault. He’d just been too busy with the string of consequences that had ensued. He actually hadn’t even met Freddie. Hours had turned into days and suddenly it had been more than a month that had passed.

“I am not, idiot”, he snapped and barely kept himself from shaking his head. He knew that he sounded harsh. The pounding headache and the slow discussion made him quite irritable and unfortunately Freddie was the only one to carry the brunt right now. He might have to swallow his pride and apologise for his words, too. “It’s for the newest Shelby.” Freddie stared at him again, apparently trying to process the meaning behind that sentence.

“Are you telling me that you were busy becau-...” He paused for several seconds, blinking in confusion. “I though that thing you’ve had going on with Mildred wasn’t serious by any means? You claimed you hadn’t seen here in months the last time we talked about it.” Tommy only rolled his eyes and shook his head, regretting the movement instantly. Of course, Freddie had kept track of his heartthrobs and had to go down that road despite knowing that Tommy barely got any chances to enjoy his youth.

“No, you idiot. Polly would have had my head if had done that without even trying to save her reputation with marriage”, he scoffed once the world had stopped spinning again. “Dad dropped out infant brother off at the house and then just vanished for good”, he quickly added before Freddie could make any more horrible assumptions. “We’re out of milk and there’s not a single Penny left in the vault. He’ll starve if I don’t solve this problem. Just because our father is a jerk.”

Understanding finally dawned on his features “That’s why you have been busy then”, he muttered with a slow nod. “But we don’t really have any fresh milk around, too.” Freddie must have caught the sheen of distress that lingered beneath the composed masquerade of his friend and hurriedly decided to scurry down another pathway. “I’ll make sure to get some and drop it off at your house”, he agreed without asking more questions. Perhaps he knew he’d get the answers in the future and also remembered how many times Tommy had stolen food and supplies without any inquiries too.

“I owe you one”, Tommy answered, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Such moments always spread a certain warmth inside his chest and reminded him that it had been a great decision to befriend Freddie on the first day of school despite the fact he hadn’t even wanted to be there. He’d never quite gotten the point of collecting knowledge that couldn’t help him in reality. His street-smarts definitely outweighed poetry and having a neat handwriting. But having Freddie around and sharing the long days on wooden benches had made the whole issue bearable. They had quickly found ways to pass the time during boring lessons by writing messages on scrunched up papers, pulling practical jokes on teachers and sometimes fellow students if they caught them mocking the younger children. Freddie had even gone through the trouble of making up excuses when Tommy had started to miss class on a regular basis.

He pushed himself back to his feet once he’d emptied the cup. He had to leave before the exhaustion got through to his brain and while he still felt like he could manage the walk back to Watery Lane without succumbing to the pain that tried to cloud his thoughts and drag him back behind the veil of darkness. He’d still have to deal with his outraged family and start making a plan, but he’d be able to remain on his bottom for a few hours at least.

“Are you sure you don’t want to catch some sleep first?” Freddie kept watching him cautiously and wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t mind dragging you upstairs by the ankles and I am sure the rug is quite comfortable”, he added with a grin that couldn’t quite conceal what was really going on inside his head. He would have given up on his bed and blankets without even batting an eyelid despite constantly complaining about Tommy ruthlessly conquering his space. Yet, he only shrugged and started towards the doorway.

“I have to get going”, he managed through gritted teeth, fighting another wave of nausea that rose with the movement. Black spots dulled his vision and he didn’t even realise he’d grabbed the tabletop for support. “Have to get back before Arthur’s doing something stupid and the betting Shop ends up wrecked.” He smiled weakly and forced his limbs to continue moving once his vision had cleared. “I’ll see you later, don’t forget about the milk.”

“Take care of yourself and keep away from trouble, Tommy.” The unusually quiet voice of his friend barely caught up to him when he left the kitchen without looking back and got outside before he could think about it. The cold bared its teeth and bit worse than before, but it also soothed the throbbing headache and bruised fingers. He allowed himself to just stand there for a few seconds and breath despite the everlasting protest of his ribs. Then he started walking again, heading down the road. There was a shortcut back to Watery Lane he frequently used, but their cupboards were still empty and he didn’t want his siblings to go to bed hungry tonight. He could have asked Freddie for more than the milk, but his Family was struggling as well and he didn’t want to exploit their friendship. He’d somehow manage to get some bread before he returned. That would take less slight of hand than emptying pockets for some Pennies. It wouldn’t be the perfect theft, but it would do for the sake of his family.

He rummaged through his own pockets instead, finally pulling a packet of cigarettes out. He fumbled with it for a few minutes before he managed to get one of the tightly rolled gaspers out. He pushed it between his lips, trying to find the matches afterwards. Lighting it was nearly impossible since he could barely get his right hand to hold the small packet while he pulled the thin wood along its rough side. It took four tries until it caught fire and the wind almost blew it out again before he managed to shield the cigarette. But in the end, it started to glim faintly and he inhaled deeply. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he knew that the smoke wouldn’t help the lingering nausea and the headache. But when it filled his lungs with the first warm cloud, he relaxed. The pain retreated to the back of his consciousness, his strained shoulders slumped a little and his thoughts seemed to return to their crystal sharpness. It felt a like a touch of hope, like something he could hold onto until the rough times passed. It didn’t even taste as bitter anymore and he carried on after two more breaths. Not quite hopeful yet, but also not devastated. They’d always been fine in the past, they’d be fine in the future too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ◇ Since the first Season is set a few months after WWI and Finn mentions he'll turn 11 when he first appears, I figured that he was born in February / March of 1908. Therefore he's about 7 or 8 months old in this Piece.
> 
> ◇ "Yampy" roughly translates to "Madman". I am not an expert for Brummie Slang though and therefore won't guarantee it can't mean something else, too.
> 
> ◇ I have been struggling with Freddie and the end of the Chapter. I actually planned to keep the Conversation short and get Tommy back to Watery Lane already, but obivously that didn't happen (and I think a Chapter of 9,000 Words might be a little long). But there'll be more of the Shelby-Family in the next Chapters.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then we will collect the fees early”, he shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. As if they had a reputation and people backed off just because they walked down a street. He knew that she’d read his thoughts when she threw her arms up in frustration. “You really think it’s that simple, don’t you? You’re the boy who prefers horses over humans at best.”   
> He couldn’t even deny that she was right. Everyone in Small Heath knew that he’d rather spent his time on the pastures than at the Garrison. But he had grown up during the past years and he wasn’t afraid of fighting for their existence. If life played dirty, they had every right to even out the chances by doing the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be aware that there is a lot of cursing in this Chapter and that I haven't censored it because it wouldn't be Peaky Blinders anymore if I did.

The veil of darkness that separated him from the world was back in place. But this time it wasn’t quite as heavy and he managed to find the crack that allowed him to slip back into consciousness without much of a struggle. His clothes still felt damp and the cold had settled deep inside his bones, but he was surrounded by warmth and resting on a surface that definitely wasn’t cobbled paving. Yet, forcing his eyes open took some determination and once he’d managed it, he blearily blinked at the ceiling of the room for a solid minute until the cracks and faded colours finally came into focus. He couldn’t quite recall how he’d gotten inside the house. Even the memories of the miserable walk were quite blurred and definitely missed some fragments.

Considering the circumstances, he could probably be quite satisfied that he had managed to sneak a loaf of freshly baked bread from a basket. The middle-aged woman had carelessly placed it on the counter of the general store while looking at some goods she had been recommended by the salesman. It hadn’t even taken any refined shenanigans to get his hands on the wrapped bread and he had been on his way again within a few minutes. It couldn’t outweigh the misery, but he’d still count it as a success. 

The remaining walk had still threatened to chop him down. Every single step had sparked new pain, every snowflake that settled on his skin made the shivers worse and he vaguely remembered wondering if that’s what the addicts experienced when they went cold-turkey and ended up in a puddle of their own waste in some backstreet. He had tried to find his key when he’d finally reached Watery Lane, but ended up knocking since he could barely close his fingers around the metal to pull it out of his pocket. It had been John who’d opened the door after several minutes and some shouting he couldn’t quite understand from outside. School must have ended already, which meant he had been gone for the majority of the day. He would have cursed if his tongue hadn’t been too heavy to form words. Instead he had sought support by holding onto the doorframe and tried to convince his feet they’d have to move again to finally get out of the cold.

John had only managed a confused shriek and kept staring at him in confusion. Tommy had always made sure his siblings didn’t catch on when he’d been suffering due to injuries or illness. He just couldn’t stand the thought that they worried about him and therefore went through pain as well. It actually hadn’t been hard to trick them with a hearty laugh and when it had been unbearable, he’d simple stayed in his room for a few days, only dragging himself downstairs when they were tight asleep or at School.

But he had been pretty sure that his ribs would crack if he’d tried to Laugh in that very moment. He actually hadn’t been too sure if he’d even be able to stop gripping the doorframe and push past John to get upstairs and hide in his room. His vision had been blurring to the point where he could barely make out the shapes of his face and the cursed ground had started swaying beneath his feet again. John’s faint gasp had been muffled and he’d felt hands reaching out, trying to hold him upright. But John was merely a boy of thirteen and didn’t have the strength to take his full weight. “Aunt Polly! Arthur! I need fucking help!” The desperate screaming and the creaking of floorboards had been the last impressions Tommy registered. He thought about scolding John for cursing, but the darkness had started swallowing the world and that thought again.

He groaned silently when all those memories and the guilt came flooding back. He’d have to apologise for scaring John and almost crushing him with his weight. Afterwards he would finally start do deal with the issues that had gotten him into such an unfortunate spot in the first place. Maybe he could even make it to his room and come up with a plan before his family could decide to go for immediate revenge. He only had to force his leaden limbs to move one more time.

“Don’t even think about it”, snarled a sharp and quite familiar voice to his right. Something that most definitely was a teacup meeting the bottom plate with too much force clattered and then Polly appeared in his field of vision. Some unruly locks had escaped the scarf she wore around her head and cast eerie shadows on her cheeks. She looked rough around the edges and pressed her lips into a tight line, but he could still sense the worry underneath it all. “You’ve been gone all day and returned only to collapse on the fucking doorstep”, she continued without missing a beat. “I sure hope you’ve got a good explanation ready and it better not be headbutting the Coppers that caught you stealing that bread.”

He didn’t protest despite not deserving the scolding for once. Fighting with Polly would have taken the rest out of him within seconds and probably made the whole ordeal worse. If they wanted to beat that ominous _Syndicatey_ they’d have to make sure that nothing drove a wedge between them as a family. “I am sorry, Aunt Pol.” He tried to sound firm and sincere, but barely managed to rasp the words before his voice faltered. She cut him off with the wave of her hand that looked a little like she would’ve loved to at least smack his face.

“You better be, _Dinlow_ ”, she retorted and picked a rag out of a basin someone had set on the low table besides the couch. He almost feared for his life when she wrung it out, her knuckles turning white with the force she used. “You scared the shit out of John. He believed you’d died then and there until Arthur dragged your sorry ass off him and into the living room.” He shut his eyes and once more wished he’d found the strength to make it upstairs before his legs gave out. Then they wouldn’t have had to deal with his injuries in addition to all the other problems on their plate.

He only opened them again when Polly pressed the warm, wet rag against his temple and carefully started wiping the remaining dirt and dried blood from his face. She was surprisingly gentle and her features slowly softened while she assessed the damage. “I haven’t raised you to have you run off and die in a stupid fight in some backstreet”, she muttered, treacherous moisture clouding her fierce gaze. “I’ve already lost two children this year.” The words were barely more than a whisper and still echoed in the silence of the room.

Tommy caught her wrist when she turned away to wash the rag out. This family had such cursedly strong tendencies to lick their wounds in solitude even when there were people around to share the burden, it was almost a miracle they hadn’t gone extinct decades ago. “I honestly am sorry, Aunt Polly”, he repeated his apology. This time his voice was steady. “It wasn’t my intention to get in trouble and have you worried.” He paused and caught her eyes. She only gave him a small nod, acknowledging his words. “But for once it’s not been my fault. I only tried to take care of the errands”, he continued and winced when she returned to wiping the blood off his face, a little more forceful this time. To her it apparently sounded like he was trying to avoid any more lectures and the only thing indicating that she was still waiting for the actual explanation was the somewhat curious tilt of her head.

Shuffling footsteps in the doorway interrupted them. Tommy somehow raised his head, once more ignoring the wave of dizziness that crashed above his head and threatened to pull him back behind the veil. It was Ada, wearing an old shirt and trousers she had to keep in place with suspenders again. She was knitting her eyebrows together despite trying to keep her features relaxed. John was halfway hidden behind her slim frame and didn’t make a better impression, biting his lips and watching them with obvious worry.

“Come on in already”, Tommy sighed and waved his good hand. “That couch is hardly a sickbed, eh?” Actually, his feet were hanging off the armrest and if he’d tried to turn around, he probably would have ended up on the ground. It just wasn’t made for lying down despite taking up a lot of space in the small, cramped room. His confident smile and the casual comment luckily were enough to take some of the lingering tension away. Yet, John only took a few steps into the room and awkwardly kept watching them. Meanwhile Ada nonchalantly took a seat on the low table as if they didn’t own any chairs.

“You’d deserve the lecture you gave us when we stole apples from that old farmer’s orchard and John felt out of the tree”, she claimed and crossed her arms. Another smile tugged at the corners of his mouth despite being accused for the second time within mere minutes. He clearly remembered the incident that had taken place during the summer of 1905. They had been struggling with funds since their Granddad passed away in spring and the betting Shop hadn’t made any profits. In addition some people had refused to pay the Danegeld to a woman and some boys in ragged clothes. For some reason his siblings had decided that stealing apples would help the situation and get them back onto the right path.

He’d been working at the stables when the three of them had showed up there in the late afternoon. Arthur had somehow dragged a limping John along since he’d been too proud to be carried at the age of ten years. Ada on the other hand had hauled a sack of shining apples that had been filled to the brim, beaming at him when he’d put the pitchfork down and wiped his blistered palms on his trousers. He had loved the genuine happiness on her face despite knowing that it probably give him more than one headache.

“I didn’t climb any trees in a while and all I stole today was bread, y’know”, he mused and carefully moved to finally get himself upright, ignoring the unmistakable sound of disapproval that came from Polly. She knew that John and Ada would learn everything about the Business at some point, but she still didn’t like when he casually mentioned picking pockets or evening out the chances by forging some of the numbers in the books.

“You look worse than I did though”, John chimed in once he’d finally found his speech again and stepped up to the couch. Tommy had to bite back a laugh, turning it into a hearty grin instead. Breathing still hurt is ribcage and he wasn’t quite sure that a full-blown laugh wouldn’t do more damage. “If you’d all just le me explain, you’d actually have to admit that none of what happened in the streets was my fault”, he retorted and rolled his eyes. Unfortunately, that allowed the dizziness to sneak up on him again and he had to shut them quickly until the world stopped spinning. Once more he was quite thankful he hadn’t had any food today.

When he dared to open them again, the tension was back and reminded him that there still was a lot of serious Business. He loved fooling around with Ada and John, but he couldn’t ignore the pressing matters at hand. “Actually, could you send Arthur here?” Both of them looked disappointed, already sensing that they wouldn’t be a part of the following discussion. “You know, I am fifteen already”, Ada complained with a pout. “There’s no reason too send me out of the room. If you’re discussing Family Business, I have every right to be there.” Polly shot her a glance that was telling more than any scolding, but still a few seconds passed before Ada huffed in frustration and got back onto her feet. When passing him, she grabbed John by the sleeve of his shirt. “Suppose you’re not wanted here, too”, she muttered. He hesitated at first, scrunching up his face and probably pondering if there was a way he could get his will. “Let’s go and do our part.” Ada tugged at his arm again and finally got him to move.

“They’re both trying to grow up too soon”, Tommy sighed and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair once they were out of earshot. He really hoped there wouldn’t be anymore catastrophes and fights today. “You and Arthur did the same.” Polly shrugged and placed the rag back into the soiled water. “He wasn’t in such a foul mood”, she continued casually and dried her hands. “Putting his head into the rain barrel by the backdoor worked wonders.” He didn’t even question her methods anymore since they apparently worked and forced Arthur to stop dwelling on the whole ordeal with their father and the vault without using booze. Especially now that they didn’t have anymore time to get caught up in the past.

“He spent most of the day at the Shop, apparently Business was running surprisingly smooth today.” Tommy really hoped that had boosted his mood and gave him the chance to calmly tell the truth. He didn’t even want to imagine what would happen in case his brother went berserk and he couldn’t hold him back. It wouldn’t take the _Syndicate_ a whole week to start a battle they would certainly lose within a single night. On the other hand he still hadn’t figured out where that Gang belonged, which meant there was a good chance that Arthur didn’t even get to their frontlines. 

“What about Finn?”, he interrupted his thoughts, reminding himself to take one step at a time for now. “I’ve fed him with the remaining milk and put him to sleep not too long ago. It’s actually a miracle that the ruckus you caused didn’t wake him up again.” He breathed a sigh of relieve and relaxed his shoulders, one more ignoring her accusing tone. “That’s good. Freddie will bring some bottled milk tonight.” Polly raised an eyebrow, but looked somewhat pleased that he’d at least taken care of one issue. He knew she wouldn’t like that he had delegated it to someone who wasn’t part of the family, but since they barely managed to survive she couldn’t really say anything against calling some favours. 

They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Arthur announced his presence with pounding steps and finally entered the room. His cheeks were reddened and his hair desperately needed to meet a comb, but his eyes were bright with the rush of adrenaline and he definitely didn’t look like a lost child anymore. Polly must have been right about the Business at the betting Shop then.

“You’re finally back, Tommy”, he beamed and clasped his hands together while moving towards the couch. “Business ‘s been going fine, we made some good cash today. The horses were runnin’ in our favours an-“ One of his hands connected with his shoulder and Tommy didn’t quite manage to disguise his wince when the bruises protested. Arthur immediately stopped his rambling about the Shop, finally taking in his bruised jaw and fingers. He almost wished that his brother would have stayed oblivious to his suffering, as usual when he was getting excited about the Business. He actually hadn’t been passionate about anything than strong Whiskey since their father had vanished and Tommy was quite glad that he seemed to get back to his usual self. He just wished he didn’t have to inflict new pain with the message that had been forced onto him this morning.

“What the hell happened? You look like one of those posh cars they park in the streets sometimes ran you over at full speed.” Tommy only shook his head and motioned for him to close the door. John and Ada had surely tailed him and probably still lingered in the hallway, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. Once he was sure there at least was some wood between them and Arthur had taken a seat, he started to explain what had happened during the past hours. Despite trying to stay calm and downplay the whole ordeal for the sake of the whole family, he could see the horror creeping onto Polly’s features and the burning rage that settled in his brother’s chest.

“Those Bastards”, he growled, already back on his feet when Tommy had finished his last sentence. “How dare they to abduct a Shelby in broad daylight and threaten to take the Throne.” He started to circle the room like the caged lion they’d see when the Circus had been in town a few years ago. It made him dizzy and the furious creaking of the floorboards beneath the thin rug didn’t help his headache, but he still tried to stay composed. Arthur wasn’t quite grounded, but everything was better than him screaming bloody murder in the streets. “We should get some of the men and get their heads right now. Maybe Johnny Dogs or Uncle Charlie could lend a hand. Those Bookies are all too timid for a real fight these days. Just are all about numbers and calculating, most importantly the pay of course.” He continued rambling without even taking a breath.

“They get paid for doing their Job, not for bloody fights”, Tommy retorted without much bite. He’d probably been furious as well if they hadn’t beaten him up and dropped him off in some reeking backyard. “It’s been said and done anyways and we won’t gain anything by fighting them right now”, he continued and leaned back into the worn-down cushions. “They gave us a warning and a chance to react. We should use that time wisely and make a plan before spurring the horses on the track.” That had actually been the only positive thing he’d found within the whole mess. It wasn’t an advantage by any means, but it was still something to work with before soldiers of the _Syndicate_ came marching down the streets of Small Heath. He simply had to believe there was a chance of survival even when the odds were against them while they were stuck in their current position.

Arthur only growled like a rabid dog and gestured without a clear intention. His hands reminded Tommy of the bird that had once smashed against the window of the kitchen and aimlessly flailed along the road afterwards. “They should pay for what they have done.” He continued marching through the small room, red spots blossoming on his cheeks. “Do you really believe they will stick to their fucking word? No, Tommy”, he took a deep breath as if he’d forgotten how to use his lungs during the past minutes. “Those Bastards will tell you that you’re safe and then come marching down the streets anyways. Shooting you at Point Blanc just because they can and you haven’t expected them. They will take your guts and paint the wa-“

“For fucks sake. Sit down and shut up, Arthur. I can’t hear my own fucking thoughts over all that ruckus you are making”, Polly interrupted him unceremoniously. Arthur actually stopped in his tracks and stared at here for a solid minute, before hesitantly retreating to the armchair in the corner and taking a seat. He didn’t look happy about it and murmured something about crazy women under his breath, but he knew Polly well enough to take it down a notch. Especially since Polly caught his murmurs and glared at him until his lanky form seemed to shrink into the upholstery. For once Tommy was glad that their aunt could be this intimidating. He wasn’t quite sure if Arthur would have obeyed if he’d been the one to cut him short even if he’d screamed.

“They won’t bring us down that easily”, he finally continued. Arthur only huffed and curled his fingers into fists, apparently still hoping that he’d get into a fight soon. Polly wrinkled her brow and stayed silent for a while. Then she shook her head. “We don’t even have enough funds to pay the Bookies or buy bread, Tommy”, she sighed. But at the same time she didn’t really sound like she wanted to give up. She had spent the majority of her life with them and the betting Shop. She had always been involved with Business despite being a woman and frowned upon. The house at Watery Lane was the only place that brought her some comfort after losing her children – and she most definitely was capable of taking care of the Kingdom. Tommy was pretty sure she wouldn’t just back down because someone wanted to claim their territory and ascend the Throne their father had deserted.

“Then we will collect the fees early”, he shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. As if they had a reputation and people backed off just because they walked down a street. He knew that she’d read his thoughts when she threw her arms up in frustration. “You really think it’s that simple, don’t you? That they would pay because some battered boys and a woman show up at their Shops?” She didn’t raise her voice again. “They’ve stopped fearing us when your Grandfather died for one reason. None of us is intimidating to them. You’re the boy who prefers horses over humans at best.” He couldn’t even deny that she was right. Everyone in Small Heath knew that he’d tried to stay out of trouble and that he rather spent his time on the pastures than at the Garrison. But he had grown up during the past years and he wasn’t afraid of fighting for their existence. If life played dirty, they had every right to even out the chances by doing the same.

“We will make them pay”, he stated firmly and caught the eyes of his brother for a second. He nodded in agreement. “Don’t worry, Pol. We’re gonna make them pay their taxes and some additional percent if we have to”, he rasped with less fury. Polly didn’t seem convinced, but apparently decided that they could have had worse ideas even when the money didn’t meet their expenses. “I’d bet you wouldn’t even make it to your bed unscathed and I’d probably win a nice sum if we’d add that to the list on the Blackboard. How are you planning to do all that footwork and bully people twice your age into paying two weeks early?”, she still inquired.

Tommy only shrugged instead of answering. He would figure something out when he’d gotten some sleep and then just hope for the best. Polly rolled her eyes at his attitude and mumbled something along the lines of _dumb as a mule_ , quickly glancing upwards and touching the cross she constantly wore around her neck nowadays. “Assuming we get the funds. What’s the plan afterwards? You can’t just go ahead and beat a Gang you’ve never even heard of in the past.”

He averted his eyes this time and gazed at his fingers. Someone had bandaged the bruised ones while he’d been unconscious. The white colour of the boiled linen hurt his head just as much as the creaking of the floorboards. It felt like someone slowly pushed a knife through the socket of his eye and deep into his skull, scraping along the bones. “I am not quite sure yet”, he forced himself to keep talking anyways and dragged his weary gaze upwards again. “But I am willing to find a way and defend our home. Maybe we can really find some help outside of town. We aren’t Kin for no reason.”

She clicked her tongue against her front teeth, but didn’t comment. They barely knew about the whole problem since thirty minutes and it’d take some more time until they’d digested the news. “Just promise me one thing”, Polly finally caved in with a heavy sigh. “Stop picking up those cursed wooden Dimes when you’re leaving the house. And if we can’t figure something out by next Wednesday, the deal is on and we give up on that bloody Crown.” Arthur looked tight as a coil-spring when those words left her lips. He was the only grown man in the household and probably felt like he should be in charge instead of agreeing to such an ultimatum. But in the end it had always been Polly who’d made the rules around the house.

“Alright. You have my word.” She nodded, giving them one more stern look. Then her features softened. “That’s enough for tonight. Get cleaned up and into bed. You’ve hit your head hard enough to warrant two whole weeks of bedrest.” He swallowed the protest without much trouble. He couldn’t deny that he felt worn out and that sitting upright was an ordeal already. “Help him to his room. I’ll see about John, Ada and Finn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ◇ I am seriously sleep-deprived right now and it might show in the last few Paragraphs. Hopefully that will change once I've gotten used to my new Schedule. I'll do my Best to keep posting Chapters on a regular Basis, but I don't have much time for writing during the Week. 
> 
> ◇ I've actually got the feeling that I've dragged the whole Plot to a Length that's (almost) too long. But I promise there will be more Gang-Business in the next Chapter - and I hope you enjoy the Family-Dynamics until I've actually written it.
> 
> ◇ After rewatching some Episodes, I've decided that I might add a Girl / Relationship as a Subplot. Mainly because the Story of Tommy and Gretchen (I think Jessie Eden has done the Research and reveals his first true Love) was quite touching. I'll make sure it fits in though.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When his vision finally cleared, he was already facing a short knife. It was nothing more than a piece of cheap silverware most worker’s carried with them to cut bread and cheese during lunch. Constant use had turned the blade dull and the wooden handle had been worn down by greasy fingers, but the jagged metal would still cause nasty wounds when it ripped through his flesh. Slowly, he raised his hands and stepped back.

> “But you could’ve heard a Pin drop when Tommy stopped and locked the Doors. 
> 
> Twenty Years of crawlin’ was bottled up inside him.
> 
> He wasn’t holdin’ nothing back, he let ‘em have it all.
> 
> When Tommy left the Barroom, not a Gatlin Boy was standin’.“

The _Olde Fiddler’s_ wasn’t too busy that night, but they would still have an audience. It was close to the docks and usually lured the weary workers in once they collected their salaries and could spare some coin for a cool drink. Of course, they could have started collecting the fees anywhere, but this place was perfect for several reasons and Tommy would shamelessly utilise them to make a point and get the money they desperately needed to win this fight. Their gaining from the Shop wouldn’t be enough to compensate the loss even though People didn’t need more than the average encouragement to place a bet nowadays.

Bellowing laughs and grunts echoed in the streets when two men squeezed through the narrow doorway and stumbled outside, staying upright by mere luck. The wet cobblestones glistened when the bright lights hit them for a few Seconds before the door clicked shut again. Judging by that Tommy was fairly sure that most of the people inside were squiffed already, celebrating that they had gotten through one more day of underpaid work and that they still had a job. It had been a few hours since the early shifts at the factories and the docks had ended, which meant they had plenty of time to get settled in the warmth of the Pub to spend their spare coin. Some of those unlucky bastards would probably be fired and facing starvation once the lingering cold settled over Small Heath and brought heavy snow.

Of course, they could have dropped by before all the people flooded inside and added a certain risk of failure to their scheme. It might have been quite simple to bully the owner into paying his debt without his loyal costumers and employees around. Tommy knew that he usually came in early and stocked the shelves with bottles of cheap booze since he didn’t trust anyone with a key to the storage room in the back after he’d been scammed by a long-time Business Associate. Gathering that piece of Information had been surprisingly simple. One of their Bookies visited the _Olde Fiddler’s_ quite regularly and knew some of the workers and bartenders. Using the knowledge it would have been just as simple in the End.

But he’d gambled on having an audience all along. Word about the Peaky Blinders rising again and collecting what they (not quite) rightfully owned would spread fast throughout the whole district. When the incident at the Pub caused enough ripples, every single child and housewife would know about them within weeks and people might actually start paying them some respect. That’s how setting a warning example was supposed to work in theory at least.

Actually, he wasn’t quite sure that things would go down that way. He didn’t feel quite as lousy anymore and had actually slept for a solid nine hours without being disturbed once he’d made it upstairs and into his room. But the footwork and stopping by the few people that usually paid them without making a ruckus before heading towards the _Olde Fiddler’s_ had left his reserves drained. If the _Syndicate_ hadn’t threatened to have his whole family slaughtered he wouldn’t have minded to return home. Instead he just considered himself lucky that he’d taken Arthur along despite pondering about leaving him in charge of the Shop for most of the day. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d be able to survive arising troubles on his own tonight. His brother wasn’t one for words and diplomacy, but his punches usually were aimed well and easily wreaked havoc on his opponents. Once Tommy had made sure that people knew why they were beating them up and established some rules, he could trust Arthur having his back. 

He only had to make sure that it didn’t look like he was sending a hound at them or he would never earn the Crown in the end. He’d have to stand his ground too and annihilate the hearsay that he was the boy who preferred to spend his time with horses instead of humans despite loving those ferocious beasts. Polly had always told him that it was in his blood. He hadn’t quite believed her words as a boy, but by now he knew they held some truth. Sometimes he simply needed to feel their soft noses nuzzled against his neck and to run his fingers through their tangled manes. But the knowledge that his family depended on his actions and that he had to fight for their survival had buried his longings momentarily. He wasn’t going to bend his knee and accept the misery they tried to push onto their shoulders just because it was the most comfortable solution. 

The whole ordeal made him uneasy, but it also granted him strength. He pushed the doors open hard enough for them to crash against the walls. Yet it didn’t quite raise the desired attention. It wasn’t quite unusual that drunkards made a ruckus when they were confronted with doors and pushed in the wrong direction first. But once Tommy had set a foot over the threshold, the people seated closest to the entrance started to quiet and eyed them with blatant curiosity. Unfortunately, the silence only lasted for a few seconds before they returned to their conversations and beers. He’d actually anticipated that reaction and didn’t start pulling the necessary strings right away. 

With Arthur lingering behind him like a shadow, he stopped halfway into the room. He could practically feel the suspicious looks that one of the bartenders gave him when the seconds passed and he didn’t even attempt to find an empty table. Tommy almost missed the tiny gesture of his hand when he placed the glass he had been polishing down and casually threw the ragged towel over his shoulder. But when his colleague vanished through the crooked door that lead to the private rooms in the back, he knew that the plan was working and he didn’t even need to say a word. 

“Youngsters aren’t allowed in here”, Gavin Lovell rasped when he limped into the taproom. The owner of the _Olde Fiddler’s_ wasn’t quite angry, but clearly annoyed by their presence. It wasn’t unusual that some larking boys tried to get into his dinky joint. Tommy and Freddie had done it a few times as well. When the nights were busy and bartenders didn’t have time to pay attention, it had been easy enough to sneak inside and grab some beers. Once they had even managed to steal a bottle of Whiskey, but that had been the only occasion they had pushed their luck – and Tommy hadn’t been able to even smell booze for a solid five months afterwards without turning green at the memories. 

“We’re not here for a drink”, he retorted decidedly modest without missing a beat. He earned some more looks and a few laughs from the men who overheard the conversation. He hadn’t expected them to take him seriously from the very beginning, but it still stung that they didn’t even seemed concerned about their presence. They probably were as oblivious as his kidnappers when it came to his name and his ties to a certain Gang. It kind of was his own fault since he’d never even tried to be a part of the Business before everything came crashing down on his family. Maybe things would have been different if he’d made the effort before his Grandfather had passed and they were left without a King to shield them. It would at least have been less of a struggle to ascend the Throne even though there would have been enough people that didn’t take him seriously due to his age. 

“What’re you here for then, lad?”, one of the onlookers grinned, showing off a single crooked tooth. He waved his glass around and spilled most of the dark beer on his companion sitting across the Table. Luckily that man was drunk enough to shrug it off with a grunt. Otherwise they might have ended up in a brawl before Tommy could make a point. Lovell only raised an eyebrow at them, apparently waiting for an answer to the question he hadn’t asked. In one of the dark corners to his right, some men shifted in their seats and subtly moved their chairs away from the table. Either they were longing for any fight or they were the cavalry and got paid for protecting the Shop and removing unwanted guests. 

Tommy pretended he hadn’t registered the subtle shift of emotions and stepped forward. They had to keep playing the game for a few more minutes to actually bring them down and get the money they desperately needed. “We’re collecting the fees”, he stated with a slight shrug of his shoulders. Lovell furrowed his brow and tugged at his beard while some of the returning costumers laughed. “We’re not paying for any service”, he finally retorted and started pouring himself a drink without showing anymore interest. But Tommy had caught the spark of attention that his words had prompted. That split second of recognition when he realised that they belonged to the Gang that had ruled Small Heath with an iron grip a few years ago. 

But unfortunately that was the only emotion that slipped past his composure. Gavin Lovell wasn’t afraid and most definitely wouldn’t back down without some reassurance. They’d have to work on that in the future until he poured his coins readily into their coffers whenever one of them entered the taproom. 

“Right, you haven’t paid a Dime in months”, Arthur growled behind him and he could almost feel his breath tickling his neck. He carefully shifted his weight and widened his stance to block his path. He wasn’t supposed to get into a fight, not yet. “He’s right, you know. You haven’t paid in months and therefore a share of your business technically belongs to us.” He kept his voice low and his shoulders relaxed despite keeping one eye on the men still standing at attention. “Not sure what we’d want with such a shithole, though. Maybe we should burn it to the ground.” He wasn’t even stretching the truth too much. The windows had a brownish tinge and the curtains looked worse than the rags that Polly used to sweep the floors. The shelves above the bar were covered by an impressive amount of dust and the cobwebs hung low above their heads. The counter had more scratches than he was willing to count and the chairs looked like Lovell had picked them off a flea market. The pitiful ambience probably was the only reason why the workers could afford to spend their evenings here, some of them looking just as dirty as their surroundings. 

Gavin Lovell slammed the glass he’d just raised to his lips onto the counter, shattering it in the progress. He looked ready to lunge over the countertop and impale them with anything he could find within the next five seconds. “Your rule is worthless, you couldn’t even protect yourself from a rabid dog.” He snarled, earning nods and cheers that apparently fuelled his speech with fierce hatred. “Your King died and his potential successors never claimed the Throne. You don’t even have someone to wear the fucking Crown, let alone keep Small Heath save. All you have is a shady bunch of Bookies.” 

Tommy could tell that Arthur was ready to rip Lovell’s throat out by the tensions radiating from his body, but he didn’t move an inch. Maybe it actually had gotten through to him that they wouldn’t start a fight unless they couldn’t avoid it. They’d planned to collect as many fees as they could manage in one night and every brawl would cost them precious time and strength. Especially since staying upright was a challenge in itself and Tommy wasn’t quite sure how long he’d be able to ignore the lingering pain that threatened to crush his focus. 

“And I don’t see how you’d even want to rule this place. You’re just a bunch of boys and all you do is trying to take a seat with the Grown-Ups when you’re supposed to play in the streets.” Tommy turned around and squeezed past his flabbergasted brother. The cheers returned, loud enough to aggravate his headache. The rough laugh of Gavin Lovell joined them. “Yeah, get going before your curfew is up and you end up grounded.” But Tommy didn’t intend to take his leave. He pushed the doors closed and locked them with one swift movement. He stuffed the key that some idiot had left in the keyhole into his pocket and turned back, smiling calmly despite the pain that radiated from his bruised jaw. 

The laughs died down quickly. He only tested curling his fingers into a fist despite the bandages in return. “Not one single man is going to leave this room until we’ve collected the fees.” This time the Cavalry scrambled to their feet, sending one of the chairs crashing against the wall. They were quick, but this time Tommy had been prepared from the very start. He wouldn’t be as helpless as when he’d been ambushed in the street again. Rats didn’t forgive such mistakes and he’d been lucky enough that he’d gotten away once. He wasn’t going to test his luck for a second time. 

He ducked to the left to avoid the first flailing limbs and dodged a second attack by pushing his elbow into the goon’s face in one swift motion. Arthur had jumped into action just as quick and went after the man trying to grab Tommy from behind. The last time they had gotten into a fight like this, they had still been in school. But somehow they both found their place with ease and fell into step like they had been practicing this for years. 

Being outnumbered still meant they lacked some advantage and Tommy was out of breath within mere seconds. His bones felt like they were grating on each other with every jerking movement. He ended up pushing his first opponent off himself with a clumsy punch, catching his footing just in time for the next man to charge at him. Long fingers wrapped around his throat, sharp nails digging into the soft skin and adding enough pressure to make him gasp. His aim was off and his range of motion was limited, but somehow his left hand crashed against the bony cheek of the haggard bloke. He groaned and stumbled backwards, loosening his grip enough that Tommy could pry his fingers away from his throat. He kept his head low to avoid his flailing Limbs still trying to lash out and lodged his foot around the other’s ankle. With a deep breath, he pulled his foot back and forcefully pushed him backwards at the same time. White pain shot through his chest and he barely managed to stay balanced while his opponent crashed into a table. 

He was still struggling to regain his bearings when strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind, dragging him off his feet and almost crushing his bruised ribs in the progress. They’d break if he didn’t get away within the next few seconds, maybe even pierce his lung due to the applied force. A strangled growl escaped his throat and he tried to kick the man’s shin with the Heel of his Boot despite knowing that his luck was running out. He’d need a different approach this time. 

He ground his teeth and braced himself for the new flashes of pain with a quivering breath, widening his stance and lowering his emphasis by a few inches. Then he quickly moved his right leg behind the bastard by taking a step towards his left side and dropped his full weight backwards. There was no way to avoid crashing to the ground now, but at least he pulled his opponent along without straining his muscles too much. Yet, the impact knocked the wind from his lungs and he barely managed to draw a full breath once the grip around his torso loosened. 

But it was absolutely worth the pain. One more hard jab with his elbow and the man he’d taken down was howling and desperately trying to stop the blood gushing from his nose. It would probably take a while until he dragged himself off the ground and he’d most definitely think twice before crossing his path again. 

Without paying anymore attention to the whimpers and curses, Tommy struggled back to his feet. His chest was on fire and his vision started blurring, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins kept him upright. It wouldn’t last though and they had to make sure to resolve this situation within the next five minutes. He tried to find Arthur in the crowd, but got distracted by a wretch trying to crush his kneecap with his iron-shod boots. He barely avoided the collision and stumbled backwards, grunting when the pain spiked with the sudden movement. His head started swimming and he blankly stared at the frayed silhouette of the wretch, wondering if there was a way to take him down before his legs gave out. 

When his vision finally cleared, he was already facing a short knife. It was nothing more than a piece of cheap silverware most worker’s carried with them to cut bread and cheese during lunch. Constant use had turned the blade dull and the wooden handle had been worn down by greasy fingers, but the jagged metal would still cause nasty wounds when it ripped through his flesh. 

Slowly, he raised his hands and stepped back. The grin widened when the bastard followed him. The slow movement of his thick lips reminded him of slugs writhing around on the wet ground. It made him want to be sick right on the spot. “Yeah, now you’ve suddenly lost your brave”, he purred. Despite the threat his voice was soft and lacked the confidence that naturally came to people who’d ruled for many years. He was probably just jumping on the bandwagon to polish his reputation. Tommy would have laughed at the irony that he’d gain nothing from fighting a boy that could have been his son if he hadn’t had trouble breathing already. Especially since he hadn’t brought any weapons. He had considered it in the beginning, but eventually decided against it in case they ran into Coppers – and because they’d leave more of an impression if they claimed victory without even touching firearms. “Leave Business to adult men and go home.” 

He didn’t react to the taunts, keeping his eyes trained on the jagged blade that kept directing him towards the wall. Only when he was sure that his opponent stopped paying too much attention to his willing victim, he charged forward with every last ounce of strength his muscles were willing to contribute to his reckless plan. Turning his body sideways, he grabbed the man’s wrist with one hand and his slippery fingers with the other, making sure the joint was strained almost to the point of breaking. He could feel his bruised fingers protest and black spots started dancing through his field of vision, but at the same time he wasn’t feeling the sharp pain anymore. And when the man started struggling and threatened to break his grip, he gave his wrist one more shove. 

The cracking of the bones was sickening, but instead of leaving his wailing opponent alone, he redirected the momentum of his movement and finally pushed him out of his personal space. Time seemed to still until the wretch crashed into the table behind them while the knife clattered to the ground. 

Suddenly, the whole taproom went silent. 

The only sounds that remained were his ragged gasps for breath. He had to keep his head low for several seconds, bending his knees and supporting himself by holding onto the wall to his left. He fought for control, but felt his mind slowly slipping away from his desperate grasp despite knowing that their only chance was this very moment. They had to take advantage of the shock that wrecking havoc on the whole room had caused or they’d be caught up in more fighting. 

“Tommy?” 

For once Arthur’s rough voice was a blessing when it cut through the silence. It was enough to keep him grounded and he held onto the sound until he regained his composure. Straightening his back, he shrugged off the hands that still lingered close to his shoulders. If he wanted to earn that damned Crown, he had to keep pushing himself forward even when he tasted fresh blood and couldn’t seem to forget the crack of the bones he broke mere minutes ago. 

He didn’t even bother to wipe the blood from his face. Instead he savoured the looks of shock they had earned themselves while he stopped up to the counter and Gavin Lovell. He hadn’t budged, but there was something in his eyes that almost resembled fright. Apparently he hadn’t expected that some boys could take the hired thugs out without even pulling a gun on them. 

Tommy didn’t give a damn. “Do we have a deal now?”, he rasped. His pulse was still fluttering and the coppery saliva on his tongue didn’t quite taste like sweet victory. “Or would you like another demonstration in person?” He kept his chin high as if he was wearing the Crown already. Just because he still had to find a way to fill his Grandfather’s shoes didn’t mean he couldn’t pretend that he was ruthless and ready to fight the worlds with bared teeth. 

Gavin Lovell raised an eyebrow and held his gaze for a minute that felt like an eternity to Tommy. “I don’t make deals with thugs beating up loyal costumers and staff.” He shrugged and picked a discarded towel from the counter. “You better be careful and leave before I’ll send word to the Coppers. You might end up spending the night in a co-“ 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Tommy had mobilised the last of his strength and leapt forward, grabbing him by the lapels of his vest. He wouldn’t be able to fight Lovell, but surprise was a good enough bet. Somehow he yanked the innkeeper down until their foreheads almost touched. He could smell the stale Whiskey on his breath and a hint of cheap shaving cream. Without a second thought, his fingers found one of the shards of the shattered glass. He pressed it against the soft skin of his neck, making sure he applied enough force to actually draw blood. 

“You’ll obey the orders or I’ll ram this shard through your throat right here, right now.” He had never killed a man, had even refused to put one of the horses down when Charlie hadn’t been there to deal with the suffering beast. He had cried himself to sleep that night, unable to forget about the panic in its eyes. But not one single person in this room knew about all those things. Nobody could tell that his heart was beating against his ribs and that his hands were shaking from something else than straining his muscles. Once more this wasn’t about being a cold-blooded murderer. It was about pretending that he had killed countless times before. 

Their father hadn’t taught him much about caring for his family or Business, but he’d unconsciously given him at least one important lesson about life. He’d been drunk and barely able to climb back into the boat they had tied to a bitt close to the docks for the night. While his siblings had already been asleep for several hours Tommy had been sitting on deck and watched the waves that softly licked along the hull of the boat. His father had sat down heavily on some grates, surrounded by the overpowering smell of strong tobacco and cheap booze. He was quiet for a while, before he suddenly turned around and looked straight into his eyes. 

“There will always be someone at the table who’s got better cards. They always have an ace up their fucking sleeves.” Tommy hadn’t quite understood the meaning of those words back then, but nodded anyways and kept listening without complaint. Part of him had been glad about the attention. “The secret to victory is not actually having the best cards. It’s pretending.” He’d laughed and shaken his head. “It’s nothing but a charade. All of this life is, lad. You better keep that in mind.” He’d scrambled back to his feet, finally heading into the dark belly of the ship to sleep the booze off. Tommy had remained seated, confused and shivering without the warmth radiating from his father’s body. He had felt lost, just like when he’d watched them drag her lifeless body to shore. 

“Do we have a deal now?”, he repeated and gave the lapel he still grasped another sharp tug, causing Lovell to wince when the shard dug into his skin once more. His fingers were slick with his own blood by now, but he wouldn’t get off the innkeeper until he was satisfied with the answers. Something in his gaze must have shifted at that thought. Lovell slowly nodded and raised his hands in defeat. “Good”, muttered Tommy. “You’ll pay now and then every single week until we can be sure you won’t slip up again. Then we might return to collecting the fees every month.” 

He slowly let go of his vest and gave him one more warning glance before turning around. For once he was glad about the piercing blue of his irises. He had hated his eyes and when he’d still been a child. His mother’s eyes had always reminded him of calm waves and the spray of saltwater that tasted like freedom. In contrast his own eyes were freezing like the stormy winds that tossed boats around on the open sea and swallowed them whole. He had feared that the ice would pierce his soul and maybe he had been right. Something had started to shift within his mind and he was about to embrace the cold. 

“And if you’ll ever try to forgo payment again or whatever else we might request for keeping your pitiful ass save...”, he trailed off and slowly looked around the taproom. “You’ll meet this old friend once more. And then I won’t stop pushing until it’s buried deep within your neck and you can feel it moving with every single one of your dying breaths.” He dropped the shard to the ground and motioned for Arthur to collect the coin that Lovell readily placed on the counter. 

“Thanks for the service, it’s been excellent.” 

Tommy smiled and grabbed one of the bottles within his reach even though he most definitely didn’t feel like having a drink anytime soon. “We’ll take this in addition for our troubles”, he stated. Gavin Lovell actually opened his mouth to protest, but one more warning glance got him to close it with nothing more but a weak sound of frustration. “Next week. Don’t forget and keep the money ready to spare us some time.” 

With that he headed back to the doors, unlocked them unceremoniously and left taproom. Somewhere along the blurring edges of his consciousness he registered that Arthur bellowed some more insults and warnings before following him back onto the dark street. Instead of waiting for his brother, he forced his feet to keep walking. Only when the darkness had swallowed the light flooding through the windows of the _Olde Fiddler’s_ , he stopped and slumped heavily against the cold wall of a House. The world had started spinning again and he had to shut his eyes to keep the rising nausea controlled. His knees felt ready to buckle and the sound of breaking bones still echoed through his mind. 

Yet, he finally felt something like hope within his reach. They’d succeeded and got one more Shop back on the list. The payment wouldn’t save their butts just yet, but he’d proven that it wasn’t impossible and that he could do more than bowing his head and kneeling before a new King. He’d proven that it was worth the fight, worth accepting the pain and taking the bloody Crown despite wishing he’d never encountered such violence. And they’d be able to finally buy bottled milk for Finn. 

“We’ve done it, Tommy!” Arthur sounded as excited as a child that was finally allowed to unwrap their Christmas Presents. Apparently he’d desperately needed some success too after going through weeks of failures and struggles. “That Bastard actually looked scared shitless when you threatened to kill him with a fucking shard”, he continued. Tommy slowly blinked his eyes open, gladly registering that the spinning wasn’t as bad anymore, and allowed himself to smile in all honesty. It was so much easier than forcing a smile on his lips for Ada and John when he actually felt overwhelmed and helpless. 

“Yeah we did it”, he agreed and pushed himself off the wall, holding the stolen bottle out to Arthur. “And we will make more of them see that we’re capable of ruling this stupid town.” It was more of a vow to himself than anything, but Arthur didn’t comment. Instead he grabbed the bottle and took a long swig before handing it back again. Tommy did the same, savouring the burning sensation in his throat and the warmth that spread through his chest and eased the pain. He still left it at one drink. He was already pushing his limits by being on his feet since hours and most definitely didn’t need the additional misery of a hangover. 

“Once the word spreads, they will hopefully pay more willingly”, he added and handed the bottle to Arthur once more. “Brilliant idea you had there”, he commented. Tommy just grinned and decided he wouldn’t tell his brother that half of his plan hadn’t been existing until they’d entered the taproom. Despite all efforts he hadn’t been up to scheming and spent most of the morning asleep to keep the headache at Bay. They had been lucky that Lovell hadn’t hired more thugs and that surprise had been on their side. Things could have ended quite differently if they had picked another night or slacked off during the brawl. But that was the last possibility he wanted to think about in this very moment. 

"Who’s next?”, he inquired. If he took more than a few minutes to relax, the remaining adrenaline would wear off and he’d come crushing down. “There’s another Shop down the road, but they won’t be open anymore. Grandpa noted they’re selling liquors, illegally.” Tommy shrugged nonchalantly. “Let’s drag them out of bed then and see if they still refuse to meet our terms of service.” With that he started walking again, keeping his chin high. With more victories in sight the Crown actually didn’t feel too heavy tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ◇ The Quality of my writing most definitely suffered due to Work and not having much Time (and I might have written some Parts in a Daze). In Addition to that I really suck at writing fighting Scenes and I am not sure if I did Justice to the Characters. But I really wanted to give you one more Chapter before this Year comes to an End and therefore pushed through.
> 
> ◇ The Quote I used at the Beginning of the Chapter is from the Song "Coward of the County" by Kenny Rogers. It's been my main Inspiration (alongside with "Lucille" for some Reason) when I didn't know how to continue this Story.
> 
> ◇ I'd love to hear your Opinions (and see that some People are still reading). Not quite used to getting Feedback, but I really want to improve my Style (and my English).
> 
> ◇ I am probably forgetting something right now and might come back to edit the Annotations. Only got like four Hours of Sleep last Night and one Cup of Coffee wasn't enough... ^^"


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